First Down
by Firestar9mm
Summary: Renegades. If Flint hadn't known better, he'd have sworn Scarlett's attack on him in "Third and Long" was personal...He was right.
1. Impressed

**Author's Introduction:**

Wrote this as a gift for a very dear friend, who is kind enough to let me share it here.

The question was—Scarlett was _so_ angry at Flint during "Third and Long". Flint said himself that if he hadn't known better, he'd have sworn her attack on him was personal.

But why?

* * *

**First Down**

_A G.I. Joe Renegades story by Firestar9mm_

* * *

**Part One: Impressed**

_Six foot leaning on a lizard chest  
Two red dragons ironed on his vest  
All that money, you deserve the best  
I'm impressed  
I'm impressed  
I'm impressed_

_I don't like you, but I'm impressed_

**(Natalie Imbruglia, **_**Impressed**_**)**

* * *

The first time it had happened had truly been an accident.

Normally, Scarlett did not love the idea of them being in public places, especially not all together. But she knew the men were starting to feel the effects of being constantly on the run; for so long now it had been just the four of them, and even she was beginning to forget what it had been like to be in a large place, with other people. Their world had shrunk to the inside of the Coyote, to each other's habits and moods, and while in some ways it had brought them closer than any boot camp or war zone could have, in other ways, they were in danger of grinding each other down.

So when Roadblock suggested they splurge on some bar appetizers and a couple of brews and watch a baseball game, she smothered her trepidation and didn't argue with them about it.

Duke had pounced on the idea right away. Despite his frosty cool on the battlefield, the blond sergeant was friendly. Hiding out like this was against his nature, and the idea of doing something "normal" appealed to him. Roadblock was also easy-going, and liked to have fun; moreover, he had unshakable faith in their little unit; if something came along, he never seemed to have any doubt that they'd put paid to it. And Tunnel Rat was a talker; he'd start a conversation with a tree stump until it uprooted in disgust and walked off. He talked to Roadblock to complain, to Scarlett to tease, even to Snake Eyes despite knowing he'd never get an answer; rather, his attempts to get any kind of response from the silent commando were nothing short of heroic. Tunnel Rat talked just to hear himself make noise. Having to stay silent and hidden was wearing on him, too.

When Roadblock proposed the idea, they all turned as one to look the question at her. The wary expressions on their faces bothered her; they looked as though they were waiting for her to veto the idea, like a mean babysitter who enjoyed telling them "no".

Despite her initial position that she didn't give a damn what they thought of her, she heard herself agreeing, partially because she wanted to prove to them that she was a real person, too, and was just as tired of all this as they were. Affecting a nonchalant shrug, she said, "Sounds good. I could go for a burger. Who's playing tonight?"

Their expressions of surprise—and in Duke's case, barely concealed amusement-couldn't have been better if she'd hopped into the center of their huddle dressed as the Easter Bunny.

Roadblock was delighted and didn't even try to hide it. Clapping her on the shoulder with one big hand, so hard it nearly knocked her off-balance, he laughed, "Atta girl, Red. It's the Jays at Atlanta tonight."

Tunnel Rat was grinning, but he was quick to tease her. "Scarlett wants to go out and do something fun? Maybe we better not fall asleep tonight. I bet that's when the pods take over."

"We'll have to keep a low profile, though," Scarlett warned. "Our pictures are everywhere, and you never know what bartender might have a good memory for faces. A few hours won't kill us, but we shouldn't push our luck."

"Never mind. She's back," Tunnel Rat said, and Duke and Roadblock laughed.

They ended up parking the Coyote—now disguised as an unassuming van-on a side street near a bar that boasted color TV, a grill open till 3 AM and wings so hot the local fire department was on speed-dial. As she jumped out of the Coyote, Scarlett couldn't help turning to Snake Eyes.

"You can come with us, you know."

Snake shook his head, as though she were being absurd, and gestured to his face.

"We could...figure something out," she entreated, but the commando only shook his head again. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him to have it his own way, then, but she waited a minute, lips tightening, before admitting defeat. "I'll bring you back something."

But Snake shook his head again, waving his hand as if to tell her not to bother. He nodded past her at the other Joes, who were already on their way towards the bar. Tunnel Rat was rocking his weight back and forth on his heels impatiently, and Duke was looking back at her in curiosity.

Sighing through her nose, Scarlett nodded. "O.K. But take a radio if you go anywhere," she said, then added, "Please. And be _careful_." Snake Eyes was too good to have been caught by the cameras during that first awful skirmish with Cobra, but just associating with them put him in danger, too.

Snake Eyes made a circle with his thumb and forefinger, and she couldn't help but smile. "All right. See you later." And she turned her back on him and walked briskly to catch up to the Joes who were waiting for her.

The bar was crowded, which had alarmed Scarlett at first—more potential eyewitnesses who might recognize their faces from a wanted poster—but proved instead to be a blessing; everyone was focused on the game, their drinks, each other, and no one was paying attention to a group of raggedy misfits at the corner table with a good view of the TV bolted to the ceiling.

The men relaxed almost instantly once the first round came; they'd agreed to allow themselves to drink as long as they could still walk back—Scarlett flatly refused to carry anyone back to the Coyote and declared that anyone who got too wasted was sleeping it off in the gutter, Cobra be damned. The Joes laughed at this, and Tunnel Rat immediately began calling her "Sober Soldier", prompting Scarlett to kick him beneath the table as she ordered a beer of her own from the young waitress. But the beer was cold and the menu had their mouths watering after weeks of scraping by on meager rations.

"All I want out of life is a cheeseburger right now," Duke said, handing the menu back to the girl with that megawatt smile of his.

Naturally, the girl smiled back at him, eyes twinkling. "You're easy to please."

"Yes, and thank goodness for that," Duke said with a friendly laugh. "Medium rare and as fast as possible with a side of fries, and you'll be my favorite person in the world tonight."

"Coming right up," the girl sang, flushing prettily.

Scarlett heard herself cut in, forcing her menu between Duke and the waitress as she handed it back. "Make that two, please."

The waitress was visibly startled—and so were the other Joes, looking at Scarlett with interest—as if she had just remembered there were other people at the table. Her generic courteous smile blinked back on and she composed herself, pencil and pad at the ready. "Of course, ma'am, and how would you like that?"

"Rare," Scarlett said warmly. "As rare as you're legally allowed to make it without violating health codes."

The girl blinked. "Um—well—you got it!"

Tunnel Rat and Roadblock were watching the exchange as though it was a tennis match, their gazes bouncing back and forth, but Duke was smiling at Scarlett. "She likes her meat surprised and running," he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

Roadblock gave a deep bass chuckle and handed his own menu back, breaking the tension. "I'll have the steak sandwich, but make sure it's well dead, please."

Tunnel Rat handed up his menu. "Forget all of you, man, I'm having wings. Extra spicy."

The other Joes laughed, and just like that, the situation was defused. But Scarlett couldn't resist spearing Duke with a warning look. "We are trying _not_ to stick out in anyone's minds, Grunt," she lectured. "Remember?"

Duke tilted his head, blue eyes clear and affectionate. "Aww, don't be jealous, Scarlett," he crooned. "You're still my best girl."

Tunnel Rat and Roadblock's brows arched and their heads swiveled back to see what she'd do with this. Blushing in furious rage at how he managed to make everything into an innuendo, Scarlett kicked him under the table, hard. "In your _dreams_, Duke."

"_Ow_!"

"Forget the game. This is way more interesting," Tunnel Rat declared.

Scarlett frowned, turning her attention back to her beer. Jealous over _him_? Of all the idiotic…she sipped, hoping the beer would cool her off.

The cheeseburger fulfilled all of Duke's lofty expectations; his eyes closed in an expression of ecstasy as he bit into his. The other Joes watched, impressed; Tunnel Rat held up two hands to frame the blond sergeant and gave his own caption: "America".

Roadblock laughed easily, and Scarlett had to join in—she'd cheered up on seeing that her instructions had been followed and her own cheeseburger had basically been slaughtered in the kitchen. The fries were suitably spiced, and everyone was happier when their bellies were full and another round was ordered midway through the televised baseball game.

"Think this is a Braves bar, or what?" Tunnel Rat asked with a smile as a girl at the bar clapped her hands and whooped as an out was made.

"It's too bad _we_ ain't got no home team playing," Roadblock said, glancing around at the cheering bar patrons with a grin. "We'd fit in better."

"I don't know, Roadblock," Duke said, chuckling as three men at the bar along with two nearby tables set up a chorus of boos as a batter stepped up to the plate. "Maybe it's better we don't. Sounds like a powderkeg in here."

Scarlett glanced at the screen, arching a copper brow. "Cabrera is such an asshole," she declared matter-of-factly, sipping from her pint. "Maybe when we spank him tonight he'll learn not to bite the hand that fed him."

The expressions of surprise on the other Joes' faces were almost better this time than it had been when she'd agreed to come here. Smirking at them, she added to Roadblock, "Maybe _you_ don't have a home team playing."

"You're from Atlanta?" Duke asked, at the same time Tunnel Rat exclaimed, "You like baseball?"

Despite her pleasure at throwing them off-balance, Scarlett answered them calmly in turn, "Born there, and yes. Doesn't everyone?"

Roadblock quickly maneuvered her into explaining the crowd's (and her own) disdain for the disavowed Melky Cabrera; she was happy to oblige as with anything she felt strongly about.

"See, the Braves are us," she said, setting the salt shaker on the table to represent the Joes, then putting the pepper shaker beside it. "And Cabrera? He's…he's…"

"He's Mindbender," Duke supplied, reaching across the table to knock down the pepper shaker.

Scarlett chuckled, righting it before too much pepper shook out onto the table. "Basically, yes. Stop. You're making a mess."

"He's a bad guy," Tunnel Rat said sagely. "It's O.K. to knock over a bad guy."

"I didn't know you were from Atlanta," Duke said, and when Scarlett turned a curious look to him, added with an almost-sheepish shrug, "You don't usually volunteer details like that."

"You never asked," Scarlett said simply.

Duke considered her carefully. "I'm sorry."

Cocking a copper brow, Scarlett asked, "For what?"

"For not asking," he answered promptly. "It was impolite."

Scarlett frowned, this line of conversation confusing her. "Why should you care where I'm from?"

"Of course I—we _care_," Duke said, as though the very idea they didn't was absurd. "We're…comrades, and that's—we care."

"I…_forgive_ you," Scarlett said carefully, unsure where his vehemence was coming from. Suddenly uncomfortable, she got up. "Look, I'm just going to go out and ping Snake Eyes. Make sure he's O.K. Be right back."

As she exited the bar, she could hear the Joes ribbing each other.

"Way to go, Sergeant Smooth."

"What! I meant that!"

* * *

The Joes and Snake Eyes had devised an elementary system of signals for radio communication, and he answered her _just checking_ request promptly, but Scarlett wasn't ready to head back into the bar yet, still unsettled by the hurt look on Duke's face when she'd brushed off his concerns. Strapping her arms around herself, she looked up at the clear night sky, trying to remember back to when her life was normal.

But it _wasn't_ normal, and she was reminded of that instantly when a voice said, "Hey there," and a hand closed on her shoulder and tried to turn her in another direction. She immediately brought her opposite arm over it and elbowed the offender in the face. He released her with a grunt and she leaped back, out of striking distance.

Coughing, her attacker straightened. Not a Joe, or a Cobra—just a horny bar patron who'd tried to get handsy. "_Bitch_," he said, spitting blood onto the pavement, which was gross, but not very threatening.

Genuinely penitent, Scarlett offered a hand. "Sorry—I'm sorry," she said. "You—you startled me. You shouldn't have grabbed me like that." Her nerves were standing on end, but she reminded herself strongly that not everyone was trying to kill her, and this man, even in his stupidity, didn't deserve an overreaction.

Smiling, the man wiped his bleeding mouth with one hand and took her offered one with the other. "Well, that's all right, honey. You can make it up to me."

Oh.

Jaw tightening, Scarlett shook her head. "Actually, I need to get back inside. My friends are probably looking for me."

"Make 'em wait," her unwelcome suitor said, using the grip on her hand to pull her closer to him. "You hit me, after all. Don't you think I deserve something sweet after that?"

Scarlett tore her hand from his grasp, but it wasn't altogether helpful when she was already too close to him. "No, I'm thinking you deserve another shot in the mouth," she said sternly. "Let me go or I'll make you let go."

"Ouch," the man purred, sliding a hand brazenly over her breast. "I like a girl with a temper."

"You haven't _seen_ temper," Scarlett declared, and brought her hand around in a sharp knife strike to his ear. Hitting an ear hard enough was a surefire way to hurt and disorient an attacker, and he pulled back, his hand hooking into her collar and tearing a few buttons off her shirt in the process. Before she could finish with a roundhouse to the face, another voice interrupted.

"There you are, sweetheart. What's taking you so long?"

Both Scarlett and her attacker turned to see a smiling Duke. His eyes quickly scanned the battlefield and while she was sure he knew what was going on, he grinned ignorantly and opened his arms to take her into them. Puzzled, Scarlett allowed this, which meant she was caught completely off-guard when he kissed her soundly, sucking her lower lip between his possessively. He released her quickly, brushing his nose against hers and smacking his lips against hers once more quickly before hugging her to him. Scarlett's ruined shirt allowed her to feel his warmth—along with how hard his heart was beating, she noted in confusion.

"I missed you, babe," Duke said affectionately. Finally looking at the man who'd accosted her, he asked pointedly, "Is everything O.K.?"

And unbelievably, the man held up two hands to show he was unarmed. "Sorry, man. I didn't know." He looked at Scarlett to see if she'd press the issue.

But Scarlett had decided that discretion was the better part of valor in this case. "I'm O.K.," she said. "Everything's fine."

"Like I said, I didn't know. Ya'll have a good night," the man said, backing up as if he expected the Joes to attack him at any second. He all but jogged back into the bar.

As soon as they were alone, Scarlett shoved Duke off her. "How _dare_ you kiss me!"

"You're _welcome_," Duke said, frowning. Taking her arm, he guided her around the side of the bar, to the alley where they could speak privately. "Listen, Scarlett, I'm not saying it's right or fair, but in a place like this, sometimes all these guys understand is how you relate to a man—if you're his sister, wife, girlfriend."

"That's revolting. And you could have just _said_ so instead of _kissing_ me," she said icily.

"_You_ were the one who said we had to keep a low profile," Duke retorted. "Believe me, as soon as I saw him touch you I wanted to punch his lights out, but starting a fight will only get _us_ on Cobra's radar—or Flint's. I'm sorry. It was all I could think of."

Scarlett scrubbed at her face with her hand wearily. She didn't love it, but she could see the logic in his argument. "…Thanks."

But Duke was reaching for her. "Jesus. What'd he do to you?"

"It's just a…" _Scratch_, Scarlett realized, looking down at her torn shirt. The man's fingernails had torn furrows in her skin from her collarbone down between her breasts, and blood was seeping from the scratches. "He grabbed me, and this must have happened when I pulled away. It's no big deal."

"Let me see." And bold as brass, Duke was spreading the shirt, exposing the scratches—and by extension, her bra.

"Stop that!" Scarlett said indignantly. "They're just…_ow_. That…stings…"

_Stings_ wasn't really the word she meant; Duke's touch was gentle as he moved the cup of her bra aside to examine the scratches. Digging around in his pocket for a napkin he must have brought out from the bar, he dabbed at them, sucking air through his teeth. "You might want to go to the ladies' room and clean this. Who knows what that guy had under his fingernails." Pressing the napkin over the scratches, he arched a brow appreciatively. "Can see why he wanted to try, though."

Despite the warmth that blossomed in her at his touch, the glare she fixed on him was freezing. "You're unbelievable."

His smile was confidently languid, his eyes heavy-lidded as he answered matter-of-factly, "Back at you." He applied pressure to the napkin, as though to staunch the bloodflow, but Scarlett didn't trust him.

"Duke, do _you_ want an elbow to the face?" she asked incredulously.

But his expression was as tender as his touch. "Your heart's pounding."

"Adrenaline," she explained brusquely, but he boldly took her hand in his own and brought it to his own chest, where she could feel the steady drum of his own heartbeat.

"So's mine," he said. "Want to explain that?"

She glared at him.

"No? O.K., I will. I wanted to break his hands," he said calmly, as though he weren't describing an act of violence. "Made me sick to see him touch you like that."

"Why?" she asked, almost helplessly.

"I told you in the bar," he said matter-of-factly. "You're my best girl, Scarlett."

Her teeth grit, half in anger, half to suppress a purr as the pads of his fingers stroked the sensitive skin beneath her breast. "Oh..._really_." She forced the words to lay flat, to drip with sarcasm, but she couldn't stop herself from taking a hitching breath at the deceptively gentle touch of such big hands.

His blue eyes twinkled. "Good Lord, Red, you are tense."

"Don't call me Red, _Sergeant_," she hissed, trying to maintain some semblance of order and wondering vaguely why she wasn't just ripping his hand out of her shirt.

"Ooooh," he purred, and the sound did _traitorous_ things to her, stomach dropping the way it would in an elevator. "I've never been addressed by my rank in bed, but I think I could learn to like it." He waggled his eyebrows teasingly, as though they weren't in _the_ most compromising position, as if his hand wasn't in her shirt, as if they were just ribbing each other on a perfectly normal day. "Ooh, baby."

She reached up and seized his wrist in a warning hold; they both knew she could snap it if she felt threatened before he could even get out of her reach. "I am not your baby," she snarled. "And we are not in bed."

Duke's bluesky eyes flickered appreciatively down, then up, and when he spoke his voice was resigned. "Yeah. It's a shame."

Scarlett wasn't sure if he meant that they weren't in bed, or that she wasn't his baby. She wasn't stupid enough to ask.

"Thanks…thank you for the help," she said, trying to remain businesslike, to put distance between them. She stepped away from him, and he didn't fight her.

"Anytime, Lieutenant."

She saw his eyes freeze over as he realized what she was doing, and he addressed her by her rank on purpose, to show he understood. His expression, however, told her he wasn't happy about it.

Glancing back at the bar, she looked down at her ruined shirt. The buttons were a lost cause. "How can I go back in there like this?"

Duke had the answer; he unbuttoned his own shirt and handed it to her. "Hold this." As she watched in disbelief, he tugged at the hem of the muscle shirt he wore beneath it and drew it over his head, muscles flexing with the movement. Handing it to her, he said, "Sorry. Best I can do." Taking his own button-down back, he shrugged back into it, even going so far as to turn his back to give her privacy as she switched shirts.

The undershirt was a little big on her, but it covered what needed covering and would have to do. She left her own shirt gapping over it—she would just have to hope that the other Joes wouldn't notice she hadn't buttoned it because she _couldn't _button it—and before they left to go back into the bar, she said, "Duke…"

He looked at her patiently.

"I…thank you. Really. I appreciate it."

He finally smiled then, a real smile, and put a hand on her shoulder. "Come on. I think we could both use another beer."

She smirked. "For once, I agree with you."

His laugh—full, genuine, from his belly—somehow made the scratches hurt less.

* * *

When they returned to the table, Roadblock grinned and revealed that he'd taken the liberty of ordering them another round. "Ya'll work it out?"

"All systems go," Duke said airily, accepting his beer as he sat down. "What's the score?"

"Looks like a tie game between you two," Tunnel Rat joked. "But the Braves are up."

"Yesss," Scarlett cheered, sipping her own beer.

"Hey," Tunnel Rat said abruptly. "Weren't you wearing a different shirt before?"

Duke's eyes tightened in sudden panic, but Scarlett had recovered enough to field this fly, frowning, not at Tunnel Rat, but in general. "It's too damn hot in here. You'd think they'd get an AC running on nights they'd have this big of a crowd, right?"

Roadblock mercifully agreed with her, tugging at his own collar. "You ain't kiddin', Red. It's hot as hell in here."

Duke gave the barest sigh of relief, and the rest of the night passed without incident, the Joes paying the bill and departing when the game ended in favor of Atlanta.

If Snake Eyes noticed her change of wardrobe when they reconnoitered with him, he didn't show it, and maintained his characteristic silence and stillness as he drove the Coyote to a safe place for them to bed down for the night, contented with food and spirit and the lingering glow of a "normal" evening. Scarlett expected to have trouble falling asleep after the day she'd had, but she surprised herself by falling asleep rather quickly, chased into dreams by the lingering scent of pulse-weapon ozone and cheap aftershave clinging to the shirt she still wore.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

This was sort of just for fun. It did actually eventually give birth to _Third and Long_—or, I should say, the part that comes after this did.

I'm grateful to my dear friend for letting me share this—and, for encouraging me always to keep creating! Goodness knows I need the kickstart!


	2. Touchdown, Turn Around

**Author's Introduction:**

There really _is_ a reason Scarlett is so torqued off at Flint in _Third and Long_.

* * *

**First Down**

_A G.I. Joe Renegades story by Firestar9mm_

* * *

**Part Two: Touchdown, Turn Around**

_Every night I see you standing on the corner  
Shaking that thing like you're playing Pop Warner  
Touchdown, turn around, play by play, keep the score  
Would you turn me down if I'm not what you're looking for?_

_I never knew you threw so hard_

**(Hellogoodbye, **_**Touchdown Turnaround**_**)**

* * *

The second time it happened had been inevitable.

Switching drivers in the Coyote while on the road looked a hell of a lot like a Chinese fire drill—the Joes would all exit the vehicle and reshuffle themselves into it as fast as possible so that no one nearby could get too good of a look at them before they were safely back inside. It was much easier and safer to just switch places after they'd completed an errand on foot, but Duke had been complaining about Tunnel Rat's driving for nearly the entire time the field medic had been behind the wheel. The blond sergeant's complaints were not without merit—T. Rat switched lanes without signaling, tailgated other vehicles, and played with the radio when he should have been paying attention to the road. In the interest of both shutting Duke up and saving them from getting into an accident, they pulled over in the breakdown lane and switched places, Duke taking the wheel while Roadblock moved up to the passenger seat. Scarlett got stuck sitting next to Tunnel Rat.

"Sorry, T. Rat, but you're going to get us pulled over, and all of the local police have our pictures," Duke declared as he adjusted the seat to fit his taller frame. "And if that doesn't happen, you're going to wreck us."

"I'll cry all night," Tunnel Rat chuckled, relaxing on the rear bucket seat next to hers.

Something occurred to Scarlett, and she frowned at him. "You didn't want to drive. You drove dangerously on purpose," she accused. "You knew Duke would get spooked and take over."

Tunnel Rat's knowing grin told her she was right. "Actually, I was bettin' on you, but Duke's fine."

Scarlett suppressed an urge to kick him. "You jerk."

"Look, everyone wins," Tunnel Rat said, smiling beatifically. "We don't end up roadkill, I don't have to drive, and you, sweet Scarlett, get to sit next to me."

Scarlett wrinkled her nose. "I'd rather sit next to a bio-viper. You _smell_ like roadkill."

Tunnel Rat looked down at his fatigues. "Hey, give a guy a break, Red. I've been wearing these fatigues for a week—and so have you. I'm bettin' you don't exactly smell like a rose, either."

"Knock it off back there," Duke said, in that leader's voice. "Tunnel Rat, you definitely win the award for Smelliest Joe, but Scarlett, your pants make you look like a member of a teenaged girl band."

Scarlett glanced reflexively down at her fatigues—one knee was blown out entirely, and she'd lost a belt loop or two on the way, leaving holes in the battle-worn fabric. Scowling, she held her tongue.

"None of us is exactly at our freshest here," Duke continued. "Maybe we can find a laundromat or something in the next place we stop."

"Negative," Scarlett said. "We can't be wasting time waiting for our clothes to dry. Someone will spot us."

"Then quit your bitching," Duke said evenly, and she met his cool blue gaze in the rearview mirror with a blazing look of anger.

"I wouldn't be upset at having clean clothes," Roadblock said amiably. "Maybe we could stop at an S-Market."

"That's a _worse_ idea," Scarlett exploded, but Roadblock laughed, her harsh tone rolling off his back.

"I'm just kiddin', Red. Lighten up," the big man said. "I gotta better idea where to get new duds, anyway."

When they stopped in the next town, even Scarlett had to admit that Roadblock's idea was a good one—there was a Goodwill shop and a laundromat in the same shopping center, along with a Cinnabon, a barbershop and a pharmacy. As was his habit, Duke took charge immediately. "I vote that we all pick up a few civvies at the consignment shop—stuff that'll wear well and help us blend in, and once we've changed clothes, we can put a load of laundry in. It won't kill us to stay here for an hour or two," he said when he saw Scarlett about to protest.

"If I volunteer to stay with the clothes, can I have a Cinnabun?" Roadblock asked, looking wistfully at the pastry shop with an almost adorable mispronunciation of "Cinnabon".

Tunnel Rat also looked excited at the idea of sugary pastry. "Sure, buddy," he said, clapping the bigger man on the shoulder. "You put the clothes in, and I'll run get us a couple and bring 'em back."

"No," Scarlett said firmly. "Too risky. People are going to start wondering if we hang around here too long."

But they weren't listening to her. "I wouldn't mind a haircut and a shave," Duke said, scratching at the five o'clock shadow he was sporting.

"There's a pharmacy here," Scarlett pointed out. "Instead of wasting money on pastries, maybe pick up a pack of disposable razors like I did three towns back."

All three men gave her incredulous looks, all for completely different reasons:

"Do you not have a soul or something?" Tunnel Rat demanded. "Is there anything you can't suck the fun out of?"

Roadblock shook his head sadly. "Pastry ain't never a waste of money, Scarlett."

"You had a razor this whole time and didn't tell me?!" Duke said in disbelief.

Scarlett chose to answer the last question first. "I'm not going to lend you _my_ razor. That's disgusting!"

"You could have at least given me one of your extras," Duke challenged.

"No way, Grunt!" she said. "I need them. If one gets rusty, I have to throw it out or I'll get a staph infection."

"A staph infection would run out into traffic to get away from you!" Tunnel Rat joked.

Scarlett whirled on him. "You're a _walking_ staph infection!"

"_Enough_!" Duke roared.

Every Joe fell silent and turned to look at him.

Tersely, the blond sergeant flipped down the glove compartment and fished out their stash of money. He set aside a few dollars, then began peeling off bills with choppy, angry movements. When he'd made four identical stacks, he handed one each to Tunnel Rat and Roadblock, then one to Scarlett, keeping the last one for himself. "Here. Everyone gets the same amount of money, and I don't care what you do with it as long as you've got some clean clothes to wear. Roadblock, this is for the laundromat," he said, handing the few dollars he'd set aside first to Roadblock. "They're sure to have a change machine. Get fabric softener."

"Roger that," Roadblock chuckled.

Duke put the rest of the money back in the glove compartment. "O.K. Goodwill first, then we change clothes and give the fatigues to Roadblock. After that, do whatever the hell you want until the clothes are washed and dried, and we reconnoiter back here at nineteen hundred. I don't care if you buy food, razors or goddamn magic beans, but get whatever will make you all stop complaining for five minutes."

And with that, the blond sergeant slammed the driver's side door open, then jumped out of the Coyote, striding across the parking lot to the Goodwill shop. He did not look back.

Suddenly embarrassed, Scarlett turned to Tunnel Rat. Offering her hand, she said, "You don't smell _that_ bad."

Tunnel Rat smiled, readily shaking her hand. "Sometimes you're not a _total_ bitch."

Roadblock started laughing first, Tunnel Rat second. And despite herself—despite everything—Scarlett joined right in.

* * *

All the Joes cheered up at the prospect of clean clothes, even Tunnel Rat. "Snake Eyes shoulda come," Roadblock joked. "He coulda got himself a new trench coat."

"Snake Eyes is better at surviving in rough conditions than _any_ of us," Scarlett informed them sanctimoniously. "He's going to be just fine."

Tunnel Rat was busy having fun in the clothes. Whipping a brown trench coat around his shoulders, he stalked down the aisle towards Scarlett. "How's this look? Am I a ninja yet?"

Scarlett frowned, but mockingly, her lips twisting in a way that showed her amusement. Despite his earlier blowup, even Duke was cheered up by the irrepressible medic as he selected different items and camped it up for the rest of them. "Whaddawe think of these?" Tunnel Rat asked, holding up a pair of chinos. "Are they gonna make me look fat?"

Roadblock gave that great bass chuckle of his. "T. Rat, you're gonna need a hell of a lot of Cinnabuns to ever look fat, man."

"Well, then we'll get a hell of a lot of Cinnabuns," Tunnel Rat declared, adopting the common mispronunciation of "Cinnabon". "Hey, check this out," he said, grabbing a beret from the top of a circular rack and replacing his worn cap with it. Pulling it jauntily over one ear, he started strutting around, saying, "Look at me, I'm Flint." Puffing his chest out importantly and deepening his voice, he pointed at Scarlett. "Lady Jaye, we're gonna catch those filthy no-good Joes, or I'm not the Big Man On Campus around here."

Roadblock laughed, and Scarlett smiled despite issuing an immediate order to keep his voice down. But Duke's smile faded, a quick blink telling Scarlett something wasn't right. Tunnel Rat, preoccupied with his joke, continued undaunted. "I'm Flint. I think I'm a big shot 'cause I was some small-town football hero. I can throw a pigskin seventy-two yards so I think I'm great, and you should, too. When I get outta the army I'm gonna have a chain of auto dealerships and bore every customer with stories about how I coulda gone pro."

Roadblock laughed harder, and Duke seemed to shake himself out of his paralysis. Laughing stiffly, he waved Tunnel Rat over. "O.K., funny guy, enough of that. Come on, let's get out of here and change clothes. Scarlett's right, we shouldn't hang around in one place too long, anyway."

Scarlett frowned. The look on Duke's face before he'd forced that laugh hadn't been amused, and as for admitting she was right—well, that was a sure indicator something was wrong. She felt like pressing him, but he'd gone to some trouble to hide his concerns, whatever they were. She stayed quiet as they paid for their purchases.

Back in the parking lot, she stood guard at the Coyote while the men changed their clothes inside it, overhearing a fair amount of bumping and jostling as all three tried to do so in the enclosed space.

"Ow. Can you watch it, big guy? That was my face." Tunnel Rat.

"Sorry, man. I got big elbows." Roadblock.

"Just hurry up, you two." Duke was clearly still upset. "Sometimes I don't know how you two made it through Basic with the way you—_ow_, goddamnit!"

Scarlett was unable to stop a smile, but forced her face into its usual sobriety when the door of the Coyote slid back. Tunnel Rat hopped out nimbly, followed by Duke, and Roadblock brought up the rear with a stack of clothes in his hands. Scarlett noted that it wasn't just their fatigues—she could see a couple of crinkled tube socks in the pile, and crumpled near the top of the stack was something plaid that had to be a pair of boxer shorts. Scarlett was unable to help wondering exactly who those belonged to, then shook herself out of it.

"I'm wondrin' if we should even keep these," Roadblock said, casting a critical eye on what he held. "They've seen better days."

"They've seen the _worst_ days," T. Rat argued.

Duke's blue eyes darkened, and somehow Scarlett knew his thoughts mirrored her own-that the worst days may be yet to come. "I think we should keep them. We'll wash them and they'll be as good as new." All three Joes arched brows at him, and he amended, "Well, not good as new but at least _clean_. Maybe we can mend them. Either way, we should hang on to them."

Scarlett was inclined to agree. Sure, their fatigues were ripped, dirty, bloody, but at least they had _fit_. By contrast, the three men she knew to be fire-hardened, capable soldiers now looked almost adorably bedraggled. Tunnel Rat's khaki pants were crimping at his waist beneath the web belt he'd taken off his discarded fatigues, and there was room in the legs—if Scarlett had had to guess, she was sure she could have fit comfortably into the pants along with him. They were too long over a pair of less-than-reputable tennis shoes, dragging on the ground. He'd rolled back the sleeves of his button-down shirt over his forearms, showing their lean muscle; Scarlett was sure that the cuffs had previously dangled past his wrists.

Roadblock's problems were at the other end of the spectrum, and he'd been forced into a pair of denim overalls that looked—there was no sugarcoating it—downright comical on his huge frame. He'd had better luck with a dark t-shirt that had a little bit of give, and even still its tortured sleeves strained over his broad shoulders. He'd swapped his combat boots for a pair of work boots that were in decent shape; Scarlett marveled at the fact that the shop had had _any_ shoes in his size.

Duke had kept his combat boots on, either because he hadn't found shoes in his size or hadn't seen a need to change his footwear. Scarlett was inclined to think it was the latter—she was sure that the steely, combat-oriented Joe wanted to keep his boots on in case of an emergency. His jeans were a little baggy but fit better than anything Tunnel Rat or Roadblock had on. The real problem was his shirt—a buffalo-checked nightmare that was loud enough to set off car alarms as he walked by. He'd rolled the sleeves up like Tunnel Rat had, and the collar was open wide enough to show the crew-necked shirt he wore beneath it, but there was just no saving the print.

"Not bad," Scarlett lied as they took their posts outside the Coyote, ready to guard it while she got dressed. "You guys feel better?"

"Nah, these are too clean. They're itching the hell out of me," Tunnel Rat said cheerfully. "But I'm gonna go find some mud to crawl in and then they'll be perfect."

Scarlett rolled her eyes, but Duke smiled at the field medic.

"You're crazy." Roadblock shook his head. "Wish I could shower, man," the big man said wistfully.

"Nothing's perfect," Duke sighed in answer. "Maybe next time. We're lucky to have this."

For some reason that hurt to hear, and Scarlett frowned as they left her alone in the Coyote to change. She'd found a pair of dark jeans that probably belonged on a teenager, but the cheap denim was a spandex blend; it had plenty of stretch and promised to be comfortable. She'd seen sneakers in her size in the shop, but like Duke, she'd elected to simply keep her boots on in case they needed to fight or run. She'd childishly selected the thin gray sweater because it had felt soft under her fingers, and the slight scent of mothballs wasn't enough to deter her from the comfort it promised. She'd refused to even consider undergarments from a consignment shop, and wrinkled her nose at the idea that they'd likely have to stop at another S-Market in the near future. Still, it was better than the alternative—the first time she'd complained about her lack of clean underwear, she'd woken up the next morning and found several new, serviceable pieces in her pack. There hadn't been any doubt as to how they'd gotten there, but when she'd asked Snake Eyes where they'd come from, he'd simply shaken his head, giving a sign that she shouldn't concern herself with it. The sensors still on the garments confirmed her suspicions, and she'd given him a very cutting little speech about how they were supposed to be the good guys, and good guys weren't thieves. Snake Eyes had managed to convey with some difficulty that she didn't seem to have such a conscience when it came to blowing up buildings or breaking and entering, and Scarlett had argued that it was different when Cobra was involved. He'd showed her the S-Market tags on one of the new bras, and she'd flipped out for an entirely different reason. "You can't do that again," she'd exploded. "They'll _catch_ you, goddamnit."

She wasn't sure what had disappointed Snake Eyes more—that she'd assumed he wasn't skilled enough to keep out of Cobra's clutches, or that she'd seemed so unappreciative of his efforts to do something nice for her. He'd disappeared and hadn't come back for three nights, during which she'd missed him sorely.

Right now she pulled on the last clean pair of panties she had, making a mental note to ask Roadblock to wash the rest of them along with the fatigues. She frowned as she remembered how she'd found the broken sensors beside her pack the morning after she'd argued with Snake Eyes about it—he'd left them there on purpose, and she'd marveled at how someone who couldn't speak always managed somehow to have the last word.

She hadn't told Duke about that either—the all-American boy scout would have hit the roof if he'd known the items were stolen, and she'd been briefly unsettled by the idea that she and Duke would have been in agreement for once. But she hadn't been strong enough not to wear the clothes—she'd _needed_ them, after all, and she supposed that had proved Snake's point after all. She'd felt guilty for hurting her silent friend's feelings, but when you broke a rule once, it got easier to break it again and again, and she didn't want to end up a criminal—not really. She knew Cobra was evil, and anything that could be done to derail their mad schemes was a good errand, but maybe it wouldn't be a Cobra store they stole from next time. She wondered how many Cobra operatives had begun at the end of their ropes, swearing that they'd just do one job, one thing to get back on their feet, and were now firmly entrenched in the ranks of the enemy.

But she and the rest of the Joes were still on the right side. She didn't want to even put a toe over that line—and she didn't want Snake Eyes to either, especially not for her. It had been one more thing she'd felt responsible for.

Like the fact that they were even here at all.

Now that she was alone, she could let her face fall at the memory of Roadblock's wish for a shower. Even at 300 pounds of muscle and sinew, Roadblock was a gentle giant—he wore his heart on his sleeve, and that heart was solid gold. He was the one who complained the least while they were on the road, often acting as though their situation was one big road trip. He was always ready to lend a hand or shift a burden, and even Scarlett's acid tongue seemed to have no effect on him. Things just seemed to roll off his back, so for him to vocalize his displeasure at a situation, it had to have been wearing on him pretty hard. Even he had a right to be tired and frustrated, but it had come as a bit of a surprise.

Not for the first time, Scarlett wished that one of the Coyote's features was time-travel—she'd go back to the day they'd infiltrated the Springfield lab and go in by herself. She was still angry, and surer than ever that Cobra was evil and had to be stopped, but the more she got to know the men she traveled with—the more she came to like them—the sorrier she felt for dragging them into her war.

Scarlett realized she was sitting down on the floor of the Coyote's cab, in her new-old jeans and her stolen bra, her fingers playing idly with the strap of Roadblock's breastplate, which was stacked as neatly as possible against the wall of the cab. Duke's was beside it, and Tunnel Rat's was discarded sloppily in a corner. Scarlett straightened it and placed her own among them.

Idly, she pulled the thin gray sweater over her head, enjoying the feel of it against her skin, wishing it would chase away the chill inside her. She couldn't believe how happy she felt to simply be in clean clothes, even if they were hand-me-downs, even if she wanted—needed—a hot bath.

Because Duke was right, of course—they were lucky to have even this—but she hadn't liked the weary tone of his voice, or the looks of resignation on both his and Roadblock's faces. She suddenly wanted Roadblock to have a shower, and Cinnabons, and anything else he wanted. It wasn't right that they had to live this way, for who knew how long, and she was going to make Cobra pay for it if it was the last thing she did.

She realized she'd lost track of how long she'd been sitting there, and quickly pulled on a clean pair of socks and her boots, gathering up everything she wanted washed. When she came out of the Coyote, Roadblock was patiently waiting to take her pile of clothes. "T. Rat went for Cinnabuns and Duke went to the barber's," he explained when she saw her looking around for the other Joes. "I'm gonna go take these in."

"Want me to?" Scarlett said, feeling suddenly guilty that he'd gotten stuck with that detail. "I can put the clothes in. Go meet up with Tunnel Rat."

When Roadblock smiled, it was always genuine. "Nah, Scarlett, I'm cool. T. Rat's gonna bring me a Cinnabun, and to be honest, I'm looking forward to puttin' my feet up for a little. Go do something nice for Scarlett."

That made her feel even worse. She didn't need lessons in looking out for number one. She'd been taking plenty good care of herself this trip, and she'd known the risks from the beginning, but these men hadn't known what they were getting into. Now they were getting shot at, hunted down, their families threatened, their names dragged through the mud, and it was all her fault.

"I'm...I'm going to the pharmacy," she said stiffly. "Want anything?"

"Nah, I'm good," Roadblock said amiably. "If I think of anything, I'll leave Tunnel Rat here with the clothes and go pick it up."

Nodding, Scarlett escaped to the pharmacy, unable to stand up straight in the presence of that selflessness anymore. She tried to avoid the cameras that were installed on the ceilings in certain aisles, but lingered as long as she dared. The pharmacy was oddly comforting to her with its bright lights, colorful labels, the easy-listening music piping over the sound system. She selected aspirin, bandages, toilet paper, and a number of travel kits—the plastic zippered cases that contained tiny bottles of mouthwash, shampoo and conditioner, little tubes of toothpaste and midget bars of soap. She had a stash of these things in the Coyote already, collecting them whenever she had occasion to stop in a pharmacy or convenience store, but she lived in fear of running out. Being on the run was bad enough, being disavowed was humiliating, but damn it, she was going to be _clean_ at least. She also picked up the cheapest can of shaving cream she saw—a large, green-striped can of Barbasol—and a pack of disposable razors, the single-bladed kind that were more for convenience than comfort. No sense in running out of those, either—they were inexpensive, and she hadn't been kidding about the staph infections.

When she finally decided to check out, she was four people back from the register, but right before she made it to the cashier a twinge of guilt made her step off the line and go back into the aisles. Grabbing another pack of disposable razors and another canister of shaving cream, she balanced them precariously on her stack of purchases and made her slow, careful way back to the register, where she had to wait behind an additional six people.

Once she was checked out, she tossed the receipt in the nearest trash can. Through the large plate-glass window of the laundromat, she could see Tunnel Rat sitting happily on one of the tables used for folding, a boxed Cinnabon in his lap and a fork in his hand. Roadblock was sitting in a metal folding chair, enjoying his own Cinnabon, his back to the door—something Scarlett would have thought foolish were T. Rat not keeping an eye on the outside. The medic waved cheerfully at her with his fork, and Roadblock turned to see what had gotten his friend's attention, offering Scarlett a smile. After a minute's hesitation, Scarlett waved back before continuing on to stow her supplies in the Coyote. Slipping into the back of the truck, she stuffed her treasures into her pack with the rest of her stash, leaving the extra can of shaving cream and extra pack of razors in the plastic pharmacy bag to take with her. As she turned to exit the vehicle with the bag in hand, she noticed a few items she hadn't seen before—someone else had apparently been to the pharmacy, too. A large, unopened flat of bottled water sat against the far wall of the cargo bay, along with two brand-new first aid kits, the deluxe kind that had extra bandages, lots of gauze and small bottles of antiseptic. There were also a few large bottles of aspirin, a kettle, a heating pad and a treat, too—a pack of twenty-four cans of Coca-Cola. Scarlett's throat burned with longing for the sweet, sugary bite of the soda, but she refrained from taking one—she felt guilty for making such a big deal out of hoarding her supplies, when whoever had bought this stuff had clearly used their portion of the money to get things that could be shared.

But she was trying, she assured herself, twisting the handles of the plastic pharmacy bag in her hands. She _would_ try—starting now.

Her next stop was the barbershop. The bell above the door jingled as she entered, and both the barber and the client he had in the chair—not Duke; an older man with muttonchop sideburns, one longer than the other because she'd interrupted them—looked up curiously.

"Can I help you, ma'am?" the barber asked kindly, holding his trimmer safely away from his client.

"I—er—I'm looking for my friend," she said lamely, holding up her hand above her head to indicate height. "I thought he might be here. A blond guy. Six foot two, eyes of blue?"

The barber nodded, pointing to his right. "He was here earlier for a haircut and a shave, but he's gone now. He didn't say where he was headed."

Scarlett frowned. He hadn't been back at the Coyote and she hadn't seen him through the window of the laundromat. "Okay. Thank you." She turned away, but just as she was about to exit the shop, she was struck by an idea. Spinning, she asked, "Where would I go to see a football game around here?"

The barber shut off his trimmer, as though he were so surprised by her question that it wasn't safe to have a bladed implement near his client. He waved in the direction of town. "Only football team that plays around here is the Bulldogs over at the high school, straight down on Elm. Keep going down Oakland—it's the fourth left—but you're a bit early, honey, the season doesn't start till—"

Scarlett interrupted with a nod, the compass needle in her brain already swinging to plot her course. "Thanks. Thanks a lot," she said over her shoulder, pushing her way out the door as she broke into a jog. The little bell sang her on her way, along with the barber's farewell of "Good luck, sweetie."

It was actually the fifth left, but Scarlett didn't have any trouble navigating her way to the school and similarly, the football field. The sky was the yolky color of the hour before dusk, as the sun sank lower in the sky, with only a hint of robin's-egg blue left over from the afternoon. She wasn't sure how she'd known that Duke would be there, but she wasn't disappointed—Duke was standing at the Cyclone fence bordering the field, that hideous buffalo-checked shirt like a stain on the dying day, one arm thrown languidly above his head and fingers hooked into the misshapen chain-link diamonds. The fence was warped and bent inward in places from years of kids leaning against it; the chain link had been ripped away from one of the supporting posts, leaving a ragged hole, but Duke remained outside the field, looking in.

Scarlett had been jogging; now she slowed to a walk, but if he heard her, he gave no sign. Carefully, she orbited him, recognizing the posture and the expression on his face—she was sure she'd looked like that plenty of times herself in the last few months. He was trying to think back—trying to remember when his life had been normal.

He looked..._spent_.

There were a thousand things she wanted to say and a thousand more she felt like she _should_ say, but all that came out was a conversation starter she hadn't even planned on, a nonchalant inquiry that had cut the line in her brain.

"Running back?"

For some reason, it was the right thing to say. He laughed and turned to her, acknowledging her presence for the first time. "No. I was the QB."

"Were you any good?"

"Hell yes I was good," he chuckled. "Best day I had, I shrugged off three defenders to run it into the end zone." His eyes went pleasantly hazy, remembering. "Seventy-two yards. Like it was...nothing."

_Like it was yesterday_, Scarlett finished in her head. She wondered if he could hear the cheering still, in the far-off land of memory he currently dwelt in. But his smile faded, and his eyes swept the field as if just realizing it was empty, a different field, a different state, a different year. She could see the chill grip him as reality seeped in.

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask what had happened—he'd been good, had clearly been going to be something; something had happened. But she realized she already knew—even as her own voice wanted to ask _what happened?_ her memory provided the answer, Duke's own voice like an echo in her memory.

_You sack me, Flint._

"Flint," was all she said aloud. She realized she should have known—even before they'd pulled a few dazzling escape attempts and had made Flint look incredibly foolish, something that only fueled his desire to apprehend them, he had appeared to have been taking his job as their hunter way too seriously. But if it were just one more skirmish in a long-standing rivalry—that made a hell of a lot more sense. Frowning, she asked a different question. "_How_ long has this been going on, exactly?"

Duke laughed, but not like it was funny. "He got me good the night of the state championships. Hit me like a goddamned freight train. Blew out my knee."

Scarlett couldn't help glancing down at his strong legs, hidden by the ill-fitting jeans he wore. "How long did it take to get back on your feet?"

"Long enough that I lost my shot at a college scholarship," Duke sighed.

He didn't have to explain any further. As surely as she'd known he'd come here, Scarlett knew that if there'd been enough money to send him without one, he'd have been in school. That scholarship had to have been his only ticket out of a town as small as this one—his key to something _more_, and in the blink of an eye, it had been taken away from him.

Unbidden, Scarlett suddenly remembered her cozy, quiet single-study dorm room, the way the buttery afternoon light used to spill over her twin bed, the library path she'd walked in the evenings while the cooler fall breeze played with her hair. Those days were long gone now, but she'd had the chance—she'd had the _choice_.

For Duke, there'd been _no_ choice.

As if suddenly realizing what he'd admitted to her, Duke straightened up, affecting a nonchalant air. "It wasn't a big deal. I was never one for books or exams, anyway."

Scarlett wasn't fooled. It _had_ been a big deal. "I'm sorry," she said softly.

"For what?" Duke shrugged. "It's ancient history."

She suddenly realized that he was embarrassed. It wasn't like him to lose his cool, and he'd just admitted what had to have been the biggest disappointment of his life to her.

"So you joined the Army," Scarlett concluded.

"_That_ was Flint's idea, actually."

Scarlett's brows disappeared behind her bangs. "Wait a minute. Flint helped you enlist?"

Duke smiled, but again, not like he was amused. "You have no idea how pathetic I look on crutches."

Confused, Scarlett narrowed her eyes. "So you and Flint were..._friends_?"

Duke sighed, turning a far-off gaze back onto the football field. "I thought so."

Scarlett felt numb, and the plastic pharmacy bag fell from her suddenly nerveless fingers. When the fatigues had hit the fan in the Springfield labs, Flint hadn't even let them explain-he'd just been ready to bring the hammer down. "That arrogant son of a bitch," she exploded. "You'd think after all that he'd have at least _listened_ to you back in Springfield. He doesn't know me from a hole in the wall, but _you_—you'd think he'd have listened to _you_."

Duke made a face. "Maybe, but he's used to me making him look bad. He wasn't about to take a chance this time."

That made sense, too. It wasn't just about the fact that no one knew the truth about Cobra, or that Duke had gone AWOL, or even about the heinous crimes the Joes were wrongfully accused of. It was just plain _personal_.

"I'm sorry I called him an arrogant son of a bitch," she said shortly. "I should have added that he's an arrogant, childish, _petty_ son of a bitch."

Duke smiled, but the expression was brief. "The thing is, he's _not_, really. Your perspective's all screwed up. You've got to look at it from his point of view."

Scarlett felt like stamping her foot. "Who _cares_ about his point of view? He ruined your football career, and now he's ruining your military career."

"Well, to be fair, _I'm_ ruining my _own_ military career," Duke pointed out. "And in Flint's eyes, it's not the first time I've tried. There've been times I disobeyed orders, times he tried to pull strings for me, and I've embarrassed him because I haven't let him."

Scarlett narrowed her eyes. "I don't believe for one second that you disobeyed orders for the hell of it. You don't do anything without a damn good reason," she declared. "And if you didn't let him cut a corner for you, I'm sure it's only because you felt like you didn't earn it. You're the world's biggest boy scout, Duke—even now, you're trying to defend the guy who's hunting us down like dogs."

Duke just shook his head. "You see a guy who's hunting us down, who refuses to listen. But Flint sees himself as a guy who's just been trying to help me for years, and despite his best efforts, I keep throwing it back in his face. It's got to sting a little, especially since we keep giving him the slip. He's insulted."

"You're telling me the guy wants to throw us in jail because his _feelings_ are hurt." Scarlett's voice was flat; she pointed towards the empty football field. "He's acting like you're both still in high school—still out on that field."

"Can't say as I blame him." The faraway look in Duke's eyes tugged at her heart, despite her best efforts to steel it against him. "Things were a lot simpler back then."

For a minute, Scarlett was able to picture the Duke of the past, able to place that confident stride in a high-school hallway and envision that muscular arm attempting to stretch nonchalantly across the back of a girl's seat in a movie theater. A boy with big dreams and a bright future, with a mother and father who were proud of him.

Now…

Now _this_.

Duke sighed through his nose, leaning against the fence once more.

Her decision was impulsive, but its execution was slow; she was not a casual toucher and was unsure of how to use her physical presence as a comfort. Hesitantly, she slipped her arms around his waist, pressing the line of her body against his side.

She'd meant to tell him she was sorry, for the destruction of his dreams, for a life on the lam, for every little hurt. But she just rested her head against his shoulder, squeezing gently. Held on. Held on.

Duke shifted slightly and Scarlett stiffened in embarrassment, thinking she'd pushed too far, but before she could retreat in discomfort, he'd turned in the circle of her arms, not away but towards her so he could pull her more tightly against him—so _he_ could hold _her_. Scarlett went willingly into the embrace, her eyes closing as he tucked his chin over her head.

"Don't be sad for me," he whispered into her hair. "Scarlett, it's all right."

"It was your life," she whispered. "And we ruined it. Flint started it…and I finished."

Duke tightened his hold on her. "Don't say that."

She shook her head against him, buried her face in that awful shirt so she wouldn't have to look him in the eye. "It was your life," she repeated helplessly, breathing in the scent of mothballs and aftershave and soap that clung to him. "Even if you thought it was small…even if it wasn't the life you wanted…it was _yours_."

"It didn't have you in it." Duke's voice was warm and sure, his arms strong around her.

Shocked, Scarlett lifted her head, searching his face. There was still something wistful in his eyes, but this time it wasn't for the field they stood in front of, or for days gone by—it was for _her_. For _now_.

"Don't…don't be ridiculous," she faltered softly, frightened by the way her heart gave a queer, quick little beat at his words, at how tenderly he was looking at her. "I'm the one who got you into this."

Duke stroked his knuckles down her cheek, using the gentlest touch to tilt her face up to him. "And I never even said thank you," he said, his eyes darkening with emotion. Scarlett's imagination tried to run away with her, insisting she could hear the ocean, when intellectually she knew they were standing somewhere between Nowhere and No Place in the Midwest. All she could see was blue, and then he closed the remaining distance between them to press his lips to hers.

It was such a soft kiss, she let it happen, and when he traced his tongue over her lower lip, requesting entrance, she opened her mouth to him without hesitation to let him deepen it. There was so much she still didn't understand—why he didn't blame her or Flint for the misfortunes they'd visited upon him, why _he _was trying to comfort _her_ when his problems seemed so much more complicated than her own. But none of that was as surprising as the realization that she was kissing him back—kissing the tired, guilt-ridden soldier who'd held Weems' dog tags in his hand beside the Coyote, kissing the hero who was always ready to lend a hand when civilians were in trouble despite the danger it put him in. Kissing the small-town boy whose dreams of college courses and state championships had been shattered along with his knee.

Duke slid one hand down her back to press her closer to him, his tongue caressing her own, exploring her mouth almost leisurely. His mouth was hot and sweet, his arms a fortress, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she felt…_good_. Felt safe. Something that had been packed cold and tight in her heart uncurled, relaxed, and she felt her body curving into his embrace, her hands pressing against his strong back. Her legs threatened to fail her, but she couldn't bring herself to be afraid. Duke was there; Duke would hold her…

Oh, God, what were they _doing_?

Abruptly, she pulled away, not just breaking their kiss but backing out of his embrace entirely. She was instantly cold without his arms around her, but forced herself to get a handle on her emotions, panic lancing through her at how quickly she'd lost control. She raked her bangs off her face as she put distance between them, trying to forget how his mouth tasted, trying to ignore the tang of aftershave she could still scent.

"Sorry," she said, shaking her head. "I'm—I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—I'm sorry."

Duke seized her wrist. _"Why_?"

His grip on her wrist was hard, as though he didn't trust her not to run away, and a familiar feeling of irritation filled her with a chill of a different kind. "You're right. _You_ shouldn't have," she said, tearing her wrist out of his hand.

There was an answering anger on Duke's face as he stepped into her, bringing himself dangerously close again. "You weren't complaining a minute ago."

It was on the tip of her tongue to retort that she hadn't been complaining because her mouth had been otherwise occupied, but the sensory memory of his tongue sweeping past her lips to caress hers tugged at something deep and hungry inside her; no need to bring it up. She just swept him a freezing glare.

"In fact..." Duke's blue eyes were smoldering, meeting her ice with fire. "...I think you liked it."

Scarlett bristled, feeling an unwelcome rush of blood to her face, but she'd kissed him back—she had no argument for that. She was wishing she was back in the Coyote, alone, where it was safe to give her emotions free reign. "What do you want me to say?" she burst out finally.

"_Anything._" His answer was soft. "Just..." He seemed to fold in on himself, becoming once more the tired boy wondering how his plans had all collapsed atop him. "Just don't pretend that there's _nothing_ to say."

The pain that knifed through her was frightening in its immediacy. Intellectually, she knew that now was the time to put an end to this once and for all, but she couldn't stand that hurt look on his face—was ready to do anything to chase it away.

She spoke slowly, deliberately, trying to steady herself, and even still her face flamed with a blush as she reluctantly gave him ground. "I am attracted to you, Duke. I would be a liar to say otherwise."

But he didn't look happy; he folded his arms across his chest like a bratty child. "Well, for someone who claims she finds me attractive, you seem to spend a lot of time acting like I've got a communicable disease, so that isn't exactly flattering."

It was Scarlett's turn to be annoyed and hurt. "What were you expecting?" She pointed out onto the football field. "We're not in high school. Were you hoping I'd scribble your name in a heart in my notebook or try to pass you a note during study hall? Grow up, Duke."

Duke's eyes caught fire and he flushed. "I was _hoping_ maybe you'd stop denying what's between us."

"There is _nothing_ between us," she hissed, putting all the force of her frustration behind it. "There _is_ no _us_, do you understand?"

Duke laughed, a brittle sound, and threw his hands up. "No, Scarlett, I don't understand. You admit you're attracted to me. And I, for reasons even _I_ don't understand, am attracted to _you._"

That stung. Pressing her trembling lips together, Scarlett rolled her eyes, hoping to hell that the sudden moisture in them would stay out of sight. "Now who's being unflattering? Backhand _full_ of knuckles with that one, Duke."

He laughed again, but it was a far different sound this time—something amused and surprised that he couldn't hold back. "You see? That's it."

Scarlett narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "What's it?"

"_You_." His smile was razor-sharp. "You are caustic and ruthless and sarcastic and hot-tempered..." He trailed off, those blue eyes resting so kindly on her, even as he listed her flaws. "...and funny, and smart, and brave, and pretty, and..."

She waited, her heart rate picking up against her will.

"And I _like_ you," he finished, almost helplessly, smiling and shaking his head. "I can't help it, Scarlett."

Scarlett wanted to tell him to _try _to help it, tell him how foolish he was. How idealistic, and stubborn, and irritating...and kind and strong and clever and damn it, she liked him, too. She felt her resolve weakening, and his physical proximity was making it even more difficult not to just walk back into his arms, let them both feel as good as she'd felt in his embrace. She stepped back, intending simply to put distance between them once more, but she stepped on something, something that rolled and then gave way under her foot, dropping her heavily to the ground. To Duke's credit, he attempted to catch her but came up with a handful of air, and she ended up sitting in her own surprise, seeing her confusion mirrored on Duke's face as he looked down at her.

"Whoa," he laughed when he regained his equilibrium, offering her his hands. "You all right? What is that thing?"

Scarlett ignored the offer of help, casting about for what she'd tripped on. It was only then she remembered the plastic bag from the pharmacy, which she picked up with one hand, pushing off the ground with the other to get herself to her feet. Frowning, she realized she'd stepped right onto the can of shaving cream. Shoving the bag at Duke, she tried to disguise her embarrassment with anger. "It's for you, Grunt."

Duke's blond brows arched in curiosity as he took the bag, and it was almost worth it to see the smile curve his mouth as he saw its contents—the extra pack of disposable razors and the extra can of shaving cream she'd purchased in the pharmacy. "Thank you," he said gently, and there was no mistaking the sincerity in his voice. "You didn't have to do this."

"Yes, I did." Scarlett turned back towards the fence, wrapping her arms around herself, a poor substitute for his embrace. It was like he was reading her mind—like he could see inside her head, her hurt, and she hated it. She was fairly sure he was the one who had bought the supplies she'd found in the Coyote, and if he'd bought any toiletries for himself she hadn't seen them, but her impulsive decision to purchase the items for him had never really been about that—she had wanted to prove to him that she could do something for someone other than herself. That she could be..._nice_.

She heard Duke's smile in his voice, far closer than she was comfortable with. "You know, you're cute when you…care." He laughed.

Turning back towards him, she shook her head helplessly, unable to force her voice above a defeated whisper. "…Of _course_ I care. But…"

The look in his eyes was impossibly tender, as if it pained him to gaze at her and yet couldn't tear himself away. "Come here."

Scarlett's chest felt tight, her pounding heartbeat threatening to drown out the alarm bells ringing in her brain. She told herself firmly to walk away, willed her feet to carry her off, but the command died somewhere on the way from her brain to her legs. "We _can't_," she gritted out, hating how helpless she sounded.

"Can't _what_?" he asked softly. "Can't talk about something other than fighting and running? Can't get close?" he said, even as he stepped dangerously near to her once more. "Can't want each other?"

For the first time, Scarlett allowed herself to acknowledge it as well. She _did_ want him—even now she was distracted by the memory of the taste of his mouth, was cold without his arms around her. Her muscles had tightened with desire at his command for her to come to him, her mind traitorously providing fantasies of the two of them alone somewhere safe and secluded, bodies entwined intimately.

And he was making it clear _he_ wanted _her_, too.

"Duke, you've got to put this out of your head," Scarlett said carefully, shaking her head. "You're just…tired. We've been through a lot. We're all stressed and worn out, and you're just feeling a little…confused."

"The only thing I'm _confused_ about is why you're not in my arms," Duke said, his voice gravelly with desire. "And the only thing I'm _tired_ of is of trying to pretend I don't feel this way. I'm done talking. If you don't want to be kissed until you faint, Scarlett, then go back to the Coyote."

Scarlett's chest tightened as she considered that statement. She knew she should do just as he suggested and leave, but she couldn't seem to make herself do the sensible thing. She _did_ want to be kissed, until she was lightheaded and her lips were swollen and aching, wanted those big hands to stroke and stir her, wanted him to kiss her everywhere. And what she wanted even more than that—what she wanted most of all, so much it _hurt_—was to simply be held. She wanted him to hold her.

Making her decision, she steeled herself and stepped into him. Duke's eyes widened slightly, but he stood his ground with a slightly shuddery breath as she slid her hands up his chest, feeling the hammer of his heartbeat, as hard and fast now as it had been in the alley behind the bar. Lifting her face to his, she asked softly, "Is that an order…Sergeant?"

Duke managed to hold out for about ten seconds.

All it took was one determined step forward and he had her wound hopelessly in his embrace, one strong arm around her, his other hand cupping the back of her head as he pulled her to him for a ferocious kiss. Scarlett's own hands came up to cradle his face, stroke the short velvet roughness of his hair as she opened her mouth to him. Duke made a pleased sound deep in his throat, nudging his knee between her thighs. Obeying the gentle prompting, Scarlett wrapped her leg around his, gasping against his mouth at the evidence of his desire pressed against her.

Duke laughed at her reaction as he broke their kiss. "Still think I'm confused?" he teased, breath warm against her ear.

"I think it's—_ahhh_." Scarlett shivered as he pressed harder against her, taking her earlobe in his teeth and biting gently before sliding a languid, open-mouthed kiss down her neck. "I think it's just been too long since you've been with a woman."

Duke pulled back slightly, eyes smoldering, and he tightened his hold on her, jerking her against him so she could better feel him stretched hard and ready beneath his ill-fitting jeans. Scarlett was unable to hold back a soft whimper, her own body tightening in lustful anticipation. "It's for _you_," he insisted. "I want _you_." His lips closed determinedly on hers and he ground his lower body eagerly against her. Scarlett cradled his face, mewing softly against his mouth, her thumb pressing against his strong jaw. Clutching his muscular bicep with her free hand to steady herself, she arched into his embrace, enjoying how he responded with a groan and redoubled his efforts. When she finally broke away to catch her breath, Duke resumed trailing kisses down her neck, nipping playfully, laving the tiny pain away with his tongue before sucking gently on her sensitized skin. Tensing, Scarlett speared her fingers through his hair to pull him carefully away before he could leave a mark. "Oh, no…don't…Duke, wait…"

She'd only meant that she didn't want to have to explain a hickey to the others, but Duke mistook it for her changing her mind entirely. Pulling back slightly, his eyes froze over; his voice was thready with need. "Honey, if you're having second thoughts, you'd better tell me, before…"

The endearment made Scarlett's heart flutter traitorously, but she was confused by the rest of it. "Before what?"

Duke's breath was short; he shook his head. "No, you're right. You're right, we should stop."

Scarlett blinked rapidly. He wanted to _stop_? After all that, all the teasing and the flirting and the petting that was driving her crazy, he was pumping the _brakes_? He had to be kidding.

"_Stop_?" she hissed, the fire in her now one of rage. "Had enough already, Grunt? I should have known!"

Her hands went to his chest, to push at him, but before she could Duke was kissing her hard enough to bruise, tongue forcing her lips to open. Scarlett fought briefly, but she wanted him too much to deny him—to deny herself—and every sweep of his tongue against hers wound her tighter.

"You really have no idea how much I want you, do you?" he said, voice ragged in a way that hinted he might be coming apart just as she was. "I will _never_ get enough of you, Scarlett. So if you don't want to be flat on your back with me inside you in about ten seconds, yes, we should _stop_."

Scarlett shuddered. He was still a grunt, still more spit than polish, and yet the blunt description of his intent only fueled her own lust, a blush warming her face at his praise.

_Oh, what the hell_, she thought. _Why not?_

Her pulse picked up as she considered the pros and cons. This was going to have to be a one-shot deal—their lives were constantly in danger, and survivor sex was not something you could keep up indefinitely, especially when you were living out of an assault vehicle with the rest of your small band of misfits. And there would be no keeping this a secret from the misfits if it continued, so it was better if she and Duke just got it out of their systems once and for all.

Now that she was allowing for the possibility, she could admit to herself that it _was _in her system—that _he _was—and had been for a while. She didn't love it, but she couldn't bring herself to take too much blame for it; he could be very charming when he put his mind to it, and under the steel exterior he wore to command his men beat the heart of an all-American boy. It didn't hurt that he was pretty damned cute, too. And she was just as tired as anyone of hiding from Cobra, of being disavowed and humiliated, of running for her life. Didn't she deserve ten minutes of something that didn't..._suck_?

She initiated the kiss this time, and he let her explore his mouth almost leisurely, purred in pleasure as she tried to soothe him with her mouth, her hands. All thoughts of leaving had abandoned her; she wanted to be close, wanted this, wanted him.

"Scarlett," Duke entreated, his whisper as seductive as the serpent's must have been in the garden, as frayed as her own weakening resolve. "Say it."

"Duke…"

Their gazes dueled for one more moment before he repeated it, this time in a voice caught between commanding and pleading. "_Say_ it."

A possibility that had never occurred to her before this moment flared brightly in Scarlett's addled mind—despite his aggressive stance, he wanted her to make the decision for herself; he was giving her a chance to run. For the first time, the idea that she had a choice made surrender truly possible; the hungry look in his eyes promised he'd even make it pleasurable.

She whispered it against the lips he brushed against hers—"Yes"—and his eyes darkened with desire before he moved with determination to take her mouth, the kiss brief but no less passionate for it.

Breaking away, he took her hand, urging her to follow him. "Come on."

Still lightheaded from confessions and kissing, Scarlett allowed him to tug her through the broken part of the fence. "Where…?"

"Trust me," he said, his smile sweet and secret.

The sun had just set and the field's lights remained off, leaving it blanketed in darkness as they hurried across it hand in hand, like two teenagers, to the bleachers. Scarlett tensed up as Duke led her beneath them, shuddering more from desire than from the chill of the coming night. She tried to bluff through it with wit, but the quip was shaky. "Reliving your glory days?"

Duke was unruffled—in fact, he seemed amused by her remark. Now that he knew he had her, he seemed in no hurry, something that had her fraying at the edges, not just because she needed the ache inside her soothed, but because they could be caught at any minute and she'd shoot herself before explaining anything to the others. "Just wanted some privacy. No one's going to see us here."

Those words emphasized exactly what they'd sneaked away to do, and Scarlett felt suddenly awkward and fumbling, unsure of how to proceed now that she wasn't playing keep-away any longer. Luckily, Duke was having no such stage fright—he had her back in his arms like lightning, going so far as to lift her off the ground as he carried her further under cover. Scarlett made a soft sound of surprise against his mouth, clinging to him tensely even as she kissed him back, caressing his tongue with her own.

"Put me down!" she said as sternly as possible, but her voice betrayed her, shaking at being caught off-guard by his actions.

"Thought you'd never ask." Duke grinned, and Scarlett gave a very undignified yelp as he dipped her back, grinning, as though he would lay her down on the grass beneath the bleachers. Before she could scold him, his brow furrowed and he stopped mid-motion, holding her securely, albeit at an awkward angle. "Hold that thought," he said, and brought her back upright before setting her feet on the ground.

Incredibly, Scarlett felt like cheering when he unbuttoned his shirt with jerky, impatient movements and took it off—not just because it was a treat to see his hard arms exposed and his chest straining at the a-frame shirt he wore beneath it, but because the shirt was so goddamned ugly. A giggle bubbled up in her chest at the thought, but she stilled when she saw his true intent—circling her, he spread the shirt on the grass so she'd have something to lie on. The gesture touched her, and she immediately elected to disguise that by frowning at him.

"I'm guessing this isn't the first time you've taken a girl under the bleachers."

Duke's eyes never left hers. "It's the first time I've been under them with you, and that's all that matters."

Again, her heart fluttered traitorously at his words, and she distracted herself by settling on the ground, tucking her legs beneath her. She was expecting Duke to immediately pounce, but instead he knelt beside her, shifting his weight back on his heels, just looking at her.

"What?" she asked, uncomfortable under his affectionate gaze. No one had ever looked at her that way—like she was something rare and lovely in a shop window that he wanted to buy for thousands of dollars. "Getting cold feet?"

"No," he answered immediately, stroking her cheek gently, almost reverently. "It's just…" He shook his head and laughed.

"What?" she asked again, feeling nervous now. "What's wrong?"

"You'll think it's stupid," he said dismissively, shaking his head.

His shyness baffled her, especially after all they'd disclosed to each other this evening, to say nothing of the fact that they'd sneaked here simply for a roll in the hay. "Try me."

He kissed her instead, taking her in his arms and bending her carefully back onto their makeshift blanket. It was briefly awkward for her to untangle herself from her sitting position, but soon she was lying beneath him, legs spread slightly to cradle his hips. He was careful to brace himself on his forearms, but she pulled him down to her impatiently; she wanted his weight, wanted to feel every hard, muscled inch of him against her. Duke purred at her aggression, crushing his lips to hers and moving against her with a languid, deliberate grind of hips that wasn't enough, not nearly enough, the friction of their clothing tormenting her as he teased her with a rhythm she was aching for him to continue inside her.

"It's just…" Breaking their kiss, he dropped his head to her shoulder almost bashfully, nuzzling her collarbone, murmuring his confession into the space where her neck and shoulder met. "…I wanted a bed for our first time."

Scarlett wasn't sure what exactly about that set her heart to racing—the odd, traditional sweetness of such an idea, the fact that he'd clearly fantasized about her, or the word "first". Quickly, she tried to steel herself against the sudden ambush of emotions, announcing matter-of-factly, "Well, sorry to disappoint you, but it's this or nothing, so you might want to get on with it."

"There is nothing disappointing about you." His expression frightened her more than anything that had happened before this—his face was patiently, almost delicately affectionate, and his touch seemed incongruously gentle for hands so big. "And I haven't waited this long to let it end that quickly."

Scarlett's heart began hammering harder, and from more than simply kissing and petting. "Waited"? _How_ long was "this long" exactly? What was that even supposed to _mean_?

But Duke didn't give her too much time to worry about it; he settled contentedly atop her, fondling her through her flimsy sweater as he explored her mouth with his tongue. Scarlett realized she was writhing beneath him, arching into his hands, wrapping her legs around him. Duke gave a pleased groan as she squeezed him, nuzzling at the sweater's low v-neck, kissing down between her breasts. The loose sweater dropped off one shoulder, and Duke took the opportunity to nudge her bra strap down her arm. Scarlett gasped as he slid his mouth over her breast, her nipple tightening, stiffening beneath the stroke of his tongue. "Oh..." she breathed, then sternly tried to collect herself, an unwelcome blush heating her face.

Duke looked up at her, his blue eyes warm with affection. "Don't be shy," he murmured, his lips brushing gently at the hardened peak as he spoke , making Scarlett's answer shaky.

"S-someone will hear," she hissed, but with far less force than her usual submachine delivery.

"I'll hear," he purred, drawing her nipple into his mouth and sucking hard on it. Scarlett moaned softly, unable to keep quiet as he reached up to slide his hand past what little of the bra still remained on her, thumbing her opposite nipple to attention before kissing a line across to soothe the stiffened peak in the heat of his mouth. Scarlett shuddered hard, biting down on a whimper.

Perhaps Duke had finally gotten it through his head that their time here was limited, or maybe he was just eager to get to the main event, but either way, his hands dropped to the hem of her sweater, lifting it to expose her belly, pushed it up to her rib cage. Scarlett felt her muscles contract with desire as Duke bit gently at her stomach, covering the skin with hungry kisses as he unbuttoned and unzipped, his hands sliding greedily down the back of her loosened jeans to cup her rear. Scarlett squirmed beneath him, hating the restrictions of her clothes, wishing she could touch more of him—not that having his weight atop her and his hands and mouth on her didn't feel unbelievably good.

The cheap nylon-spandex jeans scraped at her thighs as he pulled them down her legs, the only article of clothing he'd bothered to take off her. Scarlett eyed the pants as he placed them aside-she appreciated him not throwing them, since she was going to have to collect them again as soon as they were done here, and she couldn't, _wouldn't_ explain grass stains or getting caught on a football field in a state of partial nudity to _anyone_, not the other Joes, not local police, not the Falcons—but she noticed his eyes never left her body.

"You're so damned pretty." He sounded almost awed as he held her hips, tugged playfully at the flimsy strap of her stolen S-Market panties, close, so close but not where she wanted—_needed_—him. She knew if he slipped a finger beneath the cotton he'd find her slick with arousal, but he continued toying with the strap, his eyes dark with desire. "I want to see you," he rasped.

Scarlett was surprised at the note of longing in his voice; for a brief moment, she wished for more time, more privacy, was titillated by the idea of stripping her clothes lazily away in front of him until he was desperate to touch her. But there was no time for fantasies, no time for games—hardly even time for what they were doing now. She opened her mouth to tell him they were sure to be missed soon, but heard herself say something completely unexpected instead.

"Would you rather see me…or feel me?"

Duke's eyes were like watching ice shatter into pieces. There was nothing gentle about his kiss this time, and when he mounted her she could feel him pressed against her, hard as a blade. The stolen panties—her last clean pair—never stood a chance against him, and she felt more than heard them tear beneath his eager hands. He shook his head. "Wish I could feel you, honey," he muttered, shifting her slightly so he could reach for the pocket of his own jeans with a suddenly shaky hand. "Dying to feel you. But like you said, it's this or nothing."

She wasn't sure what he meant, but he didn't leave her in the dark for long. While she was relieved to see it, she wasn't able to stop her eyes from widening at the sight of the condom he drew from his jeans pocket. "And how long have you had _that_?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady and only half managing.

There was no teasing in his voice, no victory, just a simple matter-of-factness as he answered just above a whisper, lips brushing her ear. "You're not the only one who can go to the pharmacy," he quipped, and then turned his head to tear the foil packet with his teeth as she laughed aloud, unable to help it.

The problem with doing things clandestinely was time and space were luxuries they couldn't afford. Not that she was expecting any sort of romance, but she'd just wanted to see the merchandise first; however, her teasing had apparently been too much for Duke to handle and with a few brief adjustments to his own clothing, he'd sheathed himself first in the condom and then in her with one powerful thrust. Unable to help herself, Scarlett cried out softly, her arms winding around him in a dizzy attempt to pull him closer.

There was no time to savor the victory or rub it in that he'd cracked under pressure first; her eyes clamped shut and her breath was ripped from her in a long, ragged gasp at the feel of him inside her, hard and hot even through the condom. It'd been far too long since she'd done this, and she no longer needed to see anything because all her body was registering was sheer size. But he was keeping rather still for someone who'd been so eager that he'd been carrying a condom around with him before he'd even known she would follow him here.

The answer to that came when he brushed his lips against hers and whispered hoarsely, "All right?"

She managed to gather her wits enough to frown at him. "I _would_ be if you'd just _move._"

That teasing smile flickered briefly across his face, but the heat in his eyes quickly overpowered it as he withdrew slowly from her. "Hold on," he advised in a deep, hungry voice, and added, "_tight_," before surging forward to bury himself inside her to the hilt. Scarlett tried to say "Oh..." but no sound came out; she looped her arms around his neck, locking her ankles around his hips. Duke groaned in pleasure as she pressed her thighs tight against his body, and when he filled her again, she ground her hips against his to meet his thrust.

"That's it," Duke rasped, eyes fluttering as though he wanted to close them in delight. "Scarlett, that's so good..."

The pace he set was maddeningly slow, but only at first; he soon quickened his tempo in response to her eagerness to meet his thrusts, whispering hoarsely against her ear how pretty she was, that she was so tight, so wet, that he wanted her to come for him. Scarlett's breath shortened to panting, then whimpering as he thrust harder, deeper. He fastened his mouth over hers, tongue forcing her lips to open, quieting her moans of pleasure.

She hadn't been expecting a kiss. She'd been expecting those large hands to clutch her hard against him; she'd been expecting the rough, lustful desperation of his thrusts. But kisses…

Even as she thought it he brushed his nose against hers before nipping at her lower lip, sucking it playfully between his own to tug her mouth open for another kiss. So hungry, so…_needy_; sex was sex and she was perfectly ready to file it under the safe header of tension release, but his kisses were completely incongruous, too intimate, too sweet, all too fucking wrong.

As it was, she was lucky for his kisses when he slipped a hand between their entwined bodies, stroking a gentle finger over that tangle of nerves that prompted her body to tighten and slicken with her pleasure at his touch—lucky that his mouth was on hers to stifle the cry she couldn't hold back as she arched and writhed. One hand slid through the short hair at his nape, one pressing to the small of his back as she wrapped herself around him. Duke was happy to oblige, holding her close through every sweet explosion inside her, every uncontrollable shudder. Her nails snagged on his undershirt, the garment riding up so she could feel the overheated skin beneath, and for the first time, she wished they were wearing less clothing. _Next time_, she thought, _next time he should take his shirt off and—_

It barely registered through the warm glow of her orgasm that she'd told herself there would _be_ no next time. Another shiver distracted her and she held on to Duke, who'd slowed his pace and lightened his touch as she'd shattered, keeping her stimulated without putting too much pressure on her sensitized skin. She'd half expected him to smile or even laugh at his victory, but there was no proud grin, no arrogant remark, simply a hiss of breath as he felt her muscles contract and her body moisten around him as she slowly came back to her senses. His eyes fluttered shut and he thrust deep, making her gasp and dig her nails in through his shirt. He seemed to like that.

"Ss…Sss…_Scarlett_," he panted, twisting, lifting his hips, and she could do nothing but hold on as he pursued his own pleasure. He said no more, his kisses more demanding than ever until he tore his mouth from hers with a hoarse come-cry, eyes squeezed shut. Scarlett's achingly stiff nipples brushed his chest as she arched against him; she felt a new flood of moisture between her thighs as she tightened around him, the surprise tremors of a second climax shaking her senses once more.

Scarlett didn't know how long they lay together, chasing their breath, her eyes closed, Duke's forehead pressed to hers as if he couldn't get close enough; the unexpected, sad chill that gripped her when he rolled off her lasted barely a second before he drew her almost dreamily to him.

That should have been the end of it. She was sweaty and exhausted and satisfied, and fully prepared to return to her fucked-up life in progress. She expected him to make some sort of flippant remark, maybe steal one more kiss for the road.

But he didn't speak, and he didn't kiss her; he simply tucked her against him in a way that made it apparent how well they fit together. His nose brushed her cheek, his breath warm on her neck as he nuzzled her with a contented sigh. Her stomach flipped again, and she was suddenly unable to discern whose heartbeat was whose.

* * *

Scarlett wasn't sure how she managed to remain calm as she hustled back to the shopping center alone, paranoia seizing her as she entered the laundromat and saw Tunnel Rat and Roadblock look expectantly at her.

In that instant she was sure she was caught. Her fingers had been clumsy with uncertainty and fatigue as she'd redressed, and she felt panic overtake her, sure that they would notice how rumpled her clothes were. She'd tried to get all the grass and grit out of her hair and off her clothes, but she was sure she'd missed a blade somewhere; she knew she smelled of sex and aftershave. And she needed to be absolutely positive she had privacy the next time she changed her clothes—Duke's haste to be inside her had resulted in her last clean pair of panties ending up in a trash can outside a pizza parlor, so she was going commando till she got her laundry back from Roadblock. She knew there was no way they could know _that_, no matter what else she suspected, but she was terrified that her flushed skin, her mussed hair, the scent of him on her might give her away.

But the other two Joes just smiled; Roadblock especially looked happy to see her. "Welcome back, Scarlett. We brung ya somethin'," he said, reaching behind himself to the folding table and bringing a small box out in front of him like a present. Tunnel Rat handed him a fork, and the big man held both out to Scarlett, well pleased with himself. A Cinnabon.

"Oh," Scarlett said, blinking in surprise. "That's...well, thank you," she stammered, accepting the treat and feeling the warmth of it through the box.

"Ya gotta share with Duke, though," Tunnel Rat informed her, grinning. "We didn't have enough for two more."

Scarlett opened the box, digging a fork into the pastry and marveling again at goodness, at how niceties came so easily to some people, while she herself was always jumping at shadows, always searching for the snake in the grass. With her tongue, she crushed the bite of Cinnabon against the roof of her mouth, letting the sweetness fill her senses.

Duke showed up around fifteen minutes later, just as they'd planned; Tunnel Rat grinned at the sergeant as he strode briskly through the laundromat door. "You're late, Duke," he teased. "Weren't you the one who said we had to be back at the Coyote at 1900?"

Duke smiled beatifically. "Sorry. I lost track of time."

Roadblock gave that great bass chuckle of his. "You? Musta been something good, then."

Scarlett hopped off the table to interrupt this exchange, not trusting Duke not to give them away. "Here, Roadblock said we can split this," she said, thrusting the boxed Cinnabon at him and giving him a warning look.

Duke was unruffled, taking the treat from her with a grin and swiping the fork neatly out of her hands. "Well, _this_ is the perfect end to a perfect day," he said, and Scarlett felt her heart give a queer, quick little beat. Shaking it away, she watched him open the box and cut himself a bite of pastry with the fork Roadblock tossed to him.

The big man smiled at his friends, stretching his feet out as he slouched in his metal folding chair in those comical overalls. "Nice to know there's still sweet things in a sour world, ain't it?"

Duke had closed his eyes as he chewed his pastry; now as he swallowed his gaze went hazy and warm. Smiling, he shrugged with one shoulder as he cut himself another piece. "Sure is," he said cheerfully, glancing at them all amiably, his gaze only flitting to Scarlett for one precious minute, "but I've tasted sweeter."

Scarlett stepped into him and swiped aggressively, causing the Joes to start up in anticipation of stopping a fight—until they realized all she'd done was snatch the fork back from Duke, complete with the piece of Cinnabon still stuck on the plastic tines.

As the three stunned Joes watched, Scarlett sucked the gooey bite of pastry off the fork, eyes closing in contentment as she tasted the sugary frosting. Tunnel Rat looked openly surprised at her actions, while Roadblock was already laughing. And Duke…that sweet secret smile already looked so familiar.

"What about you, ma'am?" Roadblock asked affectionately. "Did you go do something nice for Scarlett?"

"I guess you could say that, yes." Scarlett lifted a hand to her lips, licking some frosting off her fingertips idly. Sighing, she sank down to sit on the floor next to one of the still-running washers, the thump of the water in the agitator a poor substitute for the feel of a heartbeat against hers.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Yeah, there's more of this. I sort of know where it's going. It's just for fun though. Just keeping my hand in, really.

I go to one specific mall in the world for Cinnabons, and to remember going there with my mother when I was little. Nothing more—but it's one of the places, for some reason, I feel closest to her.


	3. Under the Water

**Author's Introduction:**

There's a troll who systematically leaves disparaging reviews on my work, yet refuses to sign in (like all bullies, this person or persons is a coward). I can only assume they're one of the many, many fangirls/boys who occasionally tear their mouths off poor Snake Eyes' genitals to snarl at anyone who might have an opposing opinion (evidenced by animation and other canons though it may be).

I am posting this for you, "Guest". You seem hungry, and apparently the genitals of fictional characters aren't enough for you today, so here's something else for you to chew on. *flips both middle fingers up* Right here, buddy. Enjoy it. And I'll keep coming up with new stuff for you, so feel free to check back here. As Tony Stark said—here's my address:

Livejournal: Firestar9mm

Twitter: AgentScarlettO

Tumblr: Scarlett-0hara

"I'll leave the door unlocked. That's what you wanted, right?"

* * *

**First Down**

_A G.I. Joe Renegades story by Firestar9mm_  
_One of many G.I. Joe stories that she has tons of fun writing, despite some people's protests._

* * *

**Chapter Three: Under the Water**

_I get confused when I'm tired  
But the last time I saw you we were in a room with  
Sunshine in my eyes and water on the floor  
I watched you float away  
Take me with you_

(Merill Bainbridge, _Under the Water_)

* * *

The third time it happened was entirely her fault, and she knew it.

After springing Duke from prison and siccing Flint on the illegal fight club, the Joes were exhausted and running on fumes. The Coyote was still in need of repairs, but Duke stated firmly that rest was more important, and Scarlett hadn't argued; she knew she didn't have it in herself to keep moving just yet. It had been Roadblock's idea to pull off the road at a campground, and no one had disagreed—the Coyote wouldn't stick out there if it were still disguised as an RV, and Flint wouldn't think to look for them there; he'd be canvassing hospital emergency rooms thinking that the Joes had taken Duke for treatment.

Unfortunately, the only treatment Duke could look forward to was from Tunnel Rat's limited supplies. As Scarlett gathered a change of clothes with intent to find the campground bathrooms, she heard the blond sergeant swear softly as the field medic tried his best to patch him up.

"_Ow_, goddamnit—that stings."

"Sorry, Top," Tunnel Rat said cheerfully. "If we're hunkering down in the dirt all night, you're gonna want these clean."

"It's just a scratch. I'll take care of it myself," Duke said, grabbing for the bottle of iodine.

"Oh, stop being such a baby," Scarlett heard herself say before she could stop herself. "You just got the stuffing knocked out of you in an illegal cage match, tough guy. Can't you deal with a little iodine?"

Duke's icy eyes narrowed, and his gaze bounced to her padded stomach. "Hormones getting to you, Lieutenant?"

Scarlett's eyes shot wide as Tunnel Rat and Roadblock chuckled and shook their heads. Meanwhile, Snake Eyes shook his head, as if he couldn't believe Duke was baiting the redhead.

Muttering a curse, she grabbed her bundle of clothes and stalked into the woods, towards a light she assumed was the bathrooms, the men's laughter echoing behind her along with one last parting shot from Duke: "Call us if you start having contractions out there!"

_That __idiot_, she thought viciously, glad no one could see her face burning in the dark. _Serves me right for helping __him__ out. Next time he's in jail he can damn well stay there!_

She calmed down slightly once she found the bathrooms. It was amazing how you took simple things for granted until you were using the woods for a latrine and washing your face with river water; she luxuriated in the opportunity to wash up in a _sink_, with _soap_—even if it was the gritty pink soap they mass-produced for use in grade-school bathrooms.

Carefully, relishing the hot water coming from the faucet, she washed all the garish makeup off her face. It was a relief to feel clean, but not nearly as much of a relief as taking off the padding she'd worn beneath her disguise—she and Snake Eyes had made it out of one of Tunnel Rat's extra sweatshirts, and there hadn't been time to complain about the distinct odor of dirt and leaves it held.

She eyed the single wooden shower stall, which looked like it hadn't been cleaned recently—a few moths flitted about in the stall along with a walking-stick insect, and the only cover it provided was a flimsy liner curtain that was torn off a few of its metal clips and sagged in places. It was separated from the rest of the bathroom by an equally flimsy liner curtain, and there was a dusty plastic lawn chair in front of it. Despite all this, Scarlett found even these less-than-stellar accommodations a treat given their recent luck, and wondered if anyone would miss her if she took a quick shower. Her gaze bounced to the soap dispenser with the speed of desperation—she could use that soap, and no one else was in here, so she could slip out and get another few pumps of it if she needed to without being concerned for her modesty. The flip-flops she'd worn as part of her disguise would protect her feet against the cruddy-looking floor of the shower stall, and the tentlike maternity blouse she'd been wearing would do for a towel. As for the insects, a blast of hot water would chase them away.

Oh, hot water...

Feeling herself weaken, Scarlett made up her mind. She wanted a shower, damn it, and when would they be in a position she could have one again?

She took a few seconds to stick her head out the door, glancing back and forth. There was a wisp of smoke rising from the Joes' camp—Scarlett wrinkled her nose at the thought of what Roadblock could possibly be throwing together out here—but no one was coming towards the small building that housed the bathrooms, and she was confident that she'd be back before anyone started to miss her. Retreating back inside and dashing back to the shower stall, she yanked the thin liner curtain aside and twisted the taps, feeling a rush of excitement when the showerhead sputtered to life and began spraying water into the stall, disturbing the insects. Holding her hand under the water, she sighed in pleasure at the transition from cold, to lukewarm, warm, to hot. The pressure was a needlelike blast that would feel like heaven after being unable to properly wash up for ages, and Scarlett seized the hem of her oversized shirt and pulled it over her head, tossing it onto the plastic chair outside the stall, where it would stay dry. Unzipping her skirt, she dropped it to the floor and stepped out of it, bending to pick it up and throw it on top of the shirt.

"Aww, honey. Where's the baby?"

The sound of the voice behind her made her jump, throwing her body backwards almost into the shower to get out of striking distance. Like the Cheshire cat, Duke seemed to have appeared starting with the grin.

"Drop it already."

Her flat tone rolled off his back; he smiled and drifted closer to her. "Want to try for another?"

She scowled to hide how her abdomen tightened at the idea of what that would entail. "No. I want you to get lost."

"It's a public bathroom, Scarlett," Duke said, smiling.

"Then use the facilities and get out." She'd recovered her modesty by this time and was trying to strap her arms around herself in a way that hid her cheap bra and panties.

"Fine. But just to let you know, the facility I want to use is the one you're standing in," he said evenly, gesturing to the shower with the bar of soap she was only just now noticing he had in his hand.

Forgetting her state of undress, Scarlett seized the liner curtain protectively. "There's only one, and I'm using it."

"Hasn't anyone told you it's nice to share?" That maddening smile was on his face, as though they had all the time in the world.

A mental image of him nude beneath the shower spray, the water flowing in rivulets over the tight muscles she'd felt beneath his fatigues during their previous tryst, flashed traitorously through Scarlett's brain. Her knees weakened and she concentrated on standing up straighter, which proved to be a mistake as Duke's gaze wandered appreciatively down to her breasts, which were thrust forward by the movement, straining at the cheap bra she'd hurriedly bought at the S-Mart with the rest of her disguise. "Forget it, Duke. There's no way we could explain that to the others," she said, then wanted to bite her tongue for admitting, even by omission, that she wanted him to join her.

"Leave that to me," he said smoothly, and reached back to grab a fistful of his shirt and pull it over his head. The movement made his muscles ripple, and Scarlett found her eyes following the round of his shoulders, the hard ridges of his abdomen, the cut at his waist that ran down to his groin. She wanted to feel that carefully conditioned body against her, wanted to trace the lines of those muscles with her fingers, her tongue, so strongly that she had to physically back away from him.

But Duke closed the distance quickly, drawing the outer curtain closed to hide them from anyone who might stumble into the bathroom unannounced. "Here, I'll make it easy for you," he said, undoing his pants, and even that careless, reflexive movement managed to be so utterly _male_ that Scarlett unconsciously trapped her tongue between her teeth. "I'm coming in, Scarlett. Up to you if you want to stay."

Scarlett fixed burning green eyes on him, as if daring him to do it, and then he was suddenly just unselfconsciously nude, the belt on his pants jingling as he tossed the tangle of clothes onto the chair, on top of hers. Scarlett allowed her gaze to sweep down, then up, then down at a far more leisurely pace. If Duke found the appraisal disquieting, he didn't show it—rather, his body betrayed his pleasure at the situation, and the hard, thick length she'd learned by touch rather than sight the first time they'd been together looked just as impressive as it had felt.

Raising her eyes back to his face, she affected an air of nonchalance that was totally at odds with her wildly beating heart, and turned away, giving him a good view of her back as she unhooked her bra. Tossing it onto the chair, she bent to draw her panties down, and she heard the barest groan from behind her as he got a good look at everything there hadn't been time to show him before. Leaving the scrap of cotton on the floor, she stepped beneath the water's punishing spray, turning her face first up to the showerhead, then to look the question at him.

"Coming?"

"Not till I'm inside you," he promised, voice thick with desire. He met her with an almost savage kiss, his fingers tangling in her wet hair, his tongue forcing her lips to open. She felt like she was falling, and only belatedly realized it was because he was bending her back over his arm as he broke the kiss, lifting her to him so he could lick her breasts. Scarlett sighed and arched her back, and he accepted the unspoken invitation and drew her nipple into his mouth, sucking, teasing with the rough edge of his tongue. She stroked the short soft dampness of his hair as he nuzzled the neglected breast, mouthing the sensitive skin beneath it before closing his lips over her. Scarlett moaned softly, letting her head fall back as she felt him take her breast as far into his mouth as he could.

There was no more teasing now, no more double entendres, no witty remarks; Duke's eyes were dark with desire as he stroked her, fingers deftly tugging on her nipples, already brought to aching stiffness by his tongue. Scarlett shuddered as he set her on her feet again beneath the hot spray. Before she could miss his touch, she realized he was holding the forgotten bar of soap, working up a lather with a devilish grin on his face. Scarlett backed up against the wall of the shower stall with wary eyes, but there was nowhere to run, not that she really wanted to escape.

"Oh, man, you're gorgeous," Duke purred as he drew the bar of soap teasingly down her body, one soapy hand greedily exploring her naked skin. When she attempted to gently disengage his fingers from the bar of soap, he relinquished it eagerly, the better to fondle her with nothing but a thin layer of bubbles between them. "I've wanted to do this for a long time," he said, punctuating "this" with a caress of her breasts, his palms scraping against their sensitive tips before smoothing down her belly and around to play lightly along her buttocks.

Drawing back from him was a colossal effort, her grip on the bar of soap the only thing tethering her to reality. "I know what you mean," she said, surprised by how low and throaty desire had made her voice. Duke's confused expression only lasted until she traced the bar of soap along those perfect muscles, explored the line where his abdomen cut sharply away from his pecs, stroked the grooves of hard muscle at his waist that ran down to the part of him she was desperate to have inside her. She wrapped her fingers around him, squeezing gently till Duke groaned, his eyes sliding to half-mast, the hot blue color of a gas flame beneath suddenly heavy lids.

Oh, she'd thought too long about touching him like this, about tunneling her fingers around his thick length and feeling him swell in her hands. Encouraged by his response to her touch, she stroked the velvet smoothness of him, caressing the slick head with her thumb. Duke made a guttural sound of pleasure and thrust into her touch, shuddering. With her free hand, she stroked experimentally lower to fondle the heavy silky testicles between his legs and his breathing became labored, the ragged sound barely audible over the hiss of the shower spray, his head dropping to her shoulder with a muttered curse. Seizing her hips, he pulled her to him, and Scarlett gasped as his hand slid between her legs, her body tightening as he took her mouth in a slow, deep kiss, the movement of his tongue in her mouth matching the movement of his fingers inside her.

"You are so wet," he said appreciatively as her body slickened in anticipation. "So ready for me…damn it." He nuzzled her neck. "We can't, I didn't...I don't have...and you're not on..."

Scarlett figured she shouldn't be surprised. He _had _said he'd come here in search of a shower—she could hardly expect the man to be prepared _every _time they ended up alone together. She debated briefly over whether or not to admit to him that she was on birth control—something she hadn't wanted him to know lest he redouble his efforts, which were already putting them in enough danger—but when he pushed first one, then two fingers carefully inside her, she heard herself moan softly and knew there was no sense in kidding herself.

"Yes I am," she whispered urgently, less concerned about the others noticing they were gone and more concerned with needing him inside her to soothe the ache in them both. At his confused expression, she added, "Not pills. Implant. Let's not make a habit of it, but for now, you're good."

Looking almost helplessly relieved, Duke said, "Scarlett, _you're_ the only thing I want to make a habit of," and without further preamble, lifted her, strong hands gripping her thighs. Scarlett made a soft sound of surprise, her legs parting reflexively over his hips as he closed the distance between them with determination, positioning her as best he could. A brief flash of panic struck her at his words—the _last_ thing they needed was to make a habit of this, and hadn't she said it was just going to be _once_? How had they ended u—_ohhh. _

Oh, she hadn't imagined it the first time—It was just as good now, _he_ was as good, his length hard and thick inside her, and the shower wall she was braced on was cool against her back, contrasting deliciously with the heat of his skin and the water that poured over them both. For one moment, she worried about how heavy she might feel to him, how uncomfortable it might be for them both to stay in this precarious position, the fact that someone—_anyone_, not just another Joe, maybe some unassuming camper—could walk in at any minute, but Duke's passion was infecting her, pulling at her, demanding she return it. She let him hold her up, her legs wrapping around him, heels digging into his thigh, the small of his back. It was an effort not to rake her nails down his back—no marks, she told herself, nothing they'd need to explain—and she had to concentrate hard on not tearing her own lip with her teeth in her efforts to hold back her moans.

Duke seemed aware of the strain on her, sliding his mouth over hers and quieting her with kisses. "That's it, baby, hold on tight," he soothed, adjusting his grip, those big hands cupping her ass and bringing her against him as if she weighed nothing at all.

"Don't—don't let me go!" she gasped nervously, tightening her hold on him and pressing her face into his neck, unable to hold back a small, soft mew of pleasure.

The smoldering look he gave her was punctuated with a deep, bone-melting thrust, and she thought she'd break then, her eyes squeezing shut reflexively. "Never," he promised, in that commander's voice, the voice you didn't question, and held her steadier than she'd thought possible as he increased his pace.

Scarlett bit his shoulder as she climaxed, regretting it immediately because it'd be one more potential thing to explain later. But Duke hadn't seemed to mind at all that she'd marked him; he held her tightly as she rode it out, following her to completion with one more strong, hard thrust, groaning loud enough that it raised a hissing echo in the shower stall. Scarlett didn't even have the presence of mind to hush him, her physical satisfaction doubled by the knowledge that he wanted her too badly to keep silent.

For one moment, she simply held onto him, panting, enjoying the nuzzling kisses he was pressing to her neck, until the sharp _rap _of something striking the tiled shower floor brought them both back to her senses. Glancing down, she saw that one of the cheap flip-flops had fallen off her foot and slapped against the wet floor; the other was still dangling from her toes. Duke's blue eyes blinked at the shoe as he tried to understand its presence; when it came to him, he gave her an amused look.

Scarlett had forgotten she'd had the shoes on entirely, and was embarrassed, her lips curling in preparation to spit a hot retort at him about the germs one could get from a public shower. But something bubbled in her chest with carbonated pressure and she ended up laughing instead, a cheerful sound she'd forgotten she was capable of. Duke was unable to help laughing with her, and the sensation of having a laughing man inside her tickled in a way that made her wish they could continue this in a bedroom.

But there was no bedroom—no _time_—and this was the _last_ time, she told herself sternly again. But the laughter had struck a chord in her; it was one thing to acknowledge the explosive chemistry between them, to gratify their mutual lust with sex (spontaneous, mind-blowing sex, she hated—almost hated—to admit). But laughter...

Laughter was something more...personal. A sharing that was completely unlike the sharing of their bodies and yet so much more intimate. Duke touched his forehead to hers, their noses brushing, an affectionate gesture that seemed to shrink the world down to just the two of them, and she shivered, partially from the echoes of their shared pleasure but also partially from apprehension at these unanticipated feelings.

Duke seemed to have noticed her mood had changed. Gently, carefully, he let her down, braced her when her weak legs threatened to drop her. "You all right?" he whispered into her wet hair, holding her and taking her shaking. She welcomed the embrace, finding his shoulder a perfect place to hide her concerns, knowing he'd assume it was a force of habit to snuggle up to her lovers.

"I'm O.K." She murmured this against his neck, not having planned to bite gently at his earlobe, but he didn't seem to be complaining—he made a pleased sound deep in his throat at the impulsive caress. She was unable to help adding, "You clean up pretty good, Duke."

Drawing back from her with that electric grin, he reached for the forgotten bar of soap. "Just you wait."

* * *

When Scarlett returned to the campfire, well satisfied and in one of her clean sets of civvies, Snake Eyes had already set up her bedroll as close to the campfire as possible. "Hey, you," she said happily, genuinely glad to see him, but he cut off her greetings, gesturing to her head. Scarlett reached up to touch her wet hair, and realized her silent friend's intent. He deftly disengaged her hand from the tentlike maternity blouse she'd been wearing at the prison and gestured at her hair again.

Scarlett laughed. "O.K., O.K. I'm doing it, see?" Flipping her head over, she quickly fashioned the blouse into a makeshift turban, tucking a stray lock of hair up into it as she settled atop her bedroll.

"It's about _time_," someone groused from across the campfire, and both Scarlett and Snake Eyes turned to see Duke. Snake's face was unreadable behind his mask, but Scarlett was unable to keep her look of surprise completely in check. He was back in the same ratty fatigues he'd been in before they'd showered, and he had dust smeared across his cheek in the exact same place it had been when he'd surprised her in the bathroom. The only explanation that suggested itself to her was that he'd left the showers and purposely smudged dirt on his face and hands while she was getting dressed. She couldn't help but blink a few times in shock, then did her best to get her expression under control.

"I thought you were going to be in there forever," Duke complained, crossing his arms over his chest like a bratty child. "And you didn't have to throw your shoe at me."

Realizing she was expected to field this fly, Scarlett smirked at Duke. "Too bad, Grunt. It's not my fault I got there first."

Duke's eyes flashed hotly at her, and while he didn't smile, she saw the expression tug at the corner of his mouth.

Tunnel Rat laughed. "Come on, Duke. You know how chicks are. They get fussy about this sort of thing."

"Don't call me 'chick', Tunnel Rat!" Scarlett snapped, not having to fake being offended, and Snake Eyes' head swiveled warningly at the field medic.

"_I'm _calling you _selfish,_" Duke grumbled, bringing their attention back to him, and Scarlett was briefly impressed at how angry he sounded as he got up and collected a bundle of clothes. "I bet now when I go in there the hot water will be gone."

Scarlett shrugged. "Too bad, so sad."

Roadblock chuckled. "That's cold, Red."

"Not as cold as that shower's going to be now," Duke said, then speared her with a glance. "Thanks a lot, Scarlett."

She felt her own gaze warming as it rested on him, and only hope she looked teasing rather than satisfied. "My pleasure."

"Now you guys see why I don't bother with showerin'," Tunnel Rat said airily, leaning back and putting his arms behind his head as Duke stomped off in the direction of the bathrooms. The Joes laughed, although Snake Eyes shook his head.

Roadblock threw an empty flashlight holster at their friend. "I think I'll wait till the morning to shower, seeing as there seems to be a line. Scarlett sure does look like a happy camper, though," the big man added, chuckling heartily at his own pun.

Snake Eyes' head swiveled back towards Scarlett, lingering just long enough to alarm her. Did he suspect something? She hadn't really secured that door all too well, and even that in itself would have been a red flag to someone as perceptive as the ninja commando. How could she have been so careless?

Too late now—there was nothing to be done but stick to her guns. Steeling herself, Scarlett pretended to sniff, turning her back on them all and crawling into her bedroll, letting the fire do what little it could to dry her wet hair. Shivers carried her down into sleep, but whether from the chill of the night or the idea that they might have been caught, she wasn't sure.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

How'd that taste to you, Guest?

"Bill me."

-Scarlett


End file.
